Mind's Eye
by Chase998
Summary: The Centre revives an assassination project one that draws Miss Parker and Jarod into the past of other children held at the Centre. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Mind's Eye - Part 1

PG for language and violence

As one reviewer pointed out, I forgot to remove an old disclaimer from when I originally posted this story on another site. Yes, the ink is very dry by now, but the content is still the same. And nope, it still hasn't been edited. 

As always, any and all feedback (including criticism) is welcome.

Rated MATURE for violence and mild language.

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All the usual disclaimers for every chapter of this story - if I owned 'em, my name would be in the show credits. Since it's not, I will continue to work at my day job.

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Miss Parker leaned back in her office chair and stifled a yawn. It was late, and the Centre had her feeling so tired that her bones ached with frustration. The pressure was on to catch Jarod, but the man was always one step out of reach. Even in the rare instances when she had taken possession of him, his list of markers came to his rescue and helped him fade into the anonymous population.

His latest red book sat on her desk. She had read it cover to cover, not bothering to infer anything from the clippings and notes on the pages. The messages contained in them were always the same: Jarod wanted to be left alone; the Centre should give up looking for him; Miss Parker should seek more of the truth.

Sydney, of course, would analyze the finer points of Jarod's messages and come up with an esoteric interpretation of what was going on in the pretender's head. That was his job, and she was content to let the psychiatrist wallow in all of it as long as she was not dragged into the equation.

Her relationship with Jarod was an odd one. It might have been easier to pursue him if he had been some vile mutation that murdered and molested. Instead, Jarod was obnoxiously noble, helping the less fortunate who had somehow managed to screw up their lives beyond recognition. He even tried to help Parker when he could, which only complicated matters for her all the more and skewed her resolve to catch him into something that was sometimes a lackluster performance.

The search for him was getting old. It was the same routine week after week, month after month. Jarod would entice, hint and mock while Parker would search, chase and become infuriated at his games. Anger was the only fuel she had left in her arsenal of incentives to capture him. Once, she had Thomas and her potential freedom from the Centre if she caught Jarod as her motivation. Someone took that away, though. Someone had torn yet another part of her soul from her with clawing cold hands that showed no mercy. They had taken Thomas and killed him to keep her at bay and in the service of the Centre.

The frosted double doors of her office opened suddenly, breaking her quiet train of thought. Lyle bounded into the room, his steps light and quick, like a happy child. He came to her desk and sat down in the chair on the other side, raised his arms and laced his fingers behind his head.

Parker was not amused at the unannounced intrusion. "Finished licking Raines' boots so soon? I would have thought two days at the very least."

Lyle dismissed her with a grin. "You make sucking up sound so criminal, sis. It's amazing how far it will get you, though."

"Surely, you're not suggesting I consider you the yardstick?" she asked with unabashed disdain.

"There are very few around here who qualify," he told her arrogantly.

Her patience was gone for the day, not that it was ever present where her brother was concerned. "What do you want, Lyle?" she grumbled.

"Actually," he said, bringing his arms down again, "I've come to offer you a change of pace."

She said nothing but leaned to the side and cupped her chin in her hand in boredom.

Her brother seemed unfazed by her lack of interest. "There's a list of children who were here about twenty five years ago, give or take. They were released. The Centre would like you to run a follow-up on them to see what they're doing now that they're a part of the free world."

"I assume they were here for a reason?"

Lyle smiled mischievously. "Aren't we all?"

"Is there a plot to this story, dear brother, or are we just looking to invite them for tea?"

He looked down and picked at a microscopic piece of lint on the lapel of his tailored suit. "Apparently, Raines found a group of them who were telepathic." He concentrated on her again, flicking his fingers. "Or was it telekinetic? I can't remember. In any case, it's your job to find as many of them as you can."

She sat up again, a dull throb beginning in her temples. "And where, pray tell, do I begin looking for them?"

Lyle's grin was not diminishing in the least, making Parker suspect there was something utterly amusing about the task to him. "That's entirely up to you and your two minions," he said flippantly, "but you may want to look through the archives at a project named Black Arrow."

She filed the project name away in her mind. The proverbial other shoe was hanging heavily in the air, waiting for the proper moment to drop, and that interested her more. "Why do I get the feeling you're giddy as a schoolgirl for reasons other than the obvious?"

"Because I," he said deliberately emphasizing his words, "am out of here for two weeks . . . and you're not."

She forced a smile, though it was not one of happiness for his impending escape from the confines of the Centre. It was cold and lifeless and mirroring the level of affection she had for her brother.

"Another fantasy vacation?"

Lyle looked contemplative. A glassy look flickered for just a moment in his eyes, sending a disgusted chill up Parker's spine. She had certainly been implying that "fantasy" had meaning, but Lyle seemed to be clueless that she knew there was significance to his mountain trips. When the time was right, she would find out all there was to know about his obsessions with Oriental women and what he did with them when he was done. She would even accept information from Jarod if he offered it, much to her chagrin.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Fresh outdoor air, the flowers in full bloom – you should take some time off, yourself. You've looked like hell since Thomas's funeral. Even Brigitte is concerned."

Lyle's audacity had no bounds. "I'm touched," she groused.

Her father's only son stood with a spring. "Well, I should be going. I have a lot of packing to do."

She looked at him, feeling more tired than when he first entered her office.

"I'm sure you do," she said. It undoubtedly took time to pack all the handcuffs, shovels and accessories needed to complete his vacation.

He turned toward the door. "Remember," he called to her, "Black Arrow."

Her brother was gone just as quickly as he had appeared, and she was alone once more. Her office was devoid of sound except for the steady hiss of the ventilation system. She knew she should go home, but the house seemed so painfully empty without Thomas there to assure here that she had a life outside the Centre. Though their time together had been brief, there were too many memories bear if she took the time to sit alone in her own home.

He had been there with her, had been ready to make a life with her in spite of the iron wall she had cultivated over the years. For one brief shining moment in her life, she had visions of normality, of spending her life with someone who loved Parker because of who she was, not for what could be gained. Then someone took that – took Thomas – away from her in a most brutal fashion.

Parker's eyes closed as a vivid vision of Thomas flashed in her mind, the scent of him fresh in her memory. She was long past the point of shedding tears over his death. If she gave into the pain any more than she had already, she ran the risk of becoming weak, of losing her focus on finding his killer. The killer, she knew, lay somewhere buried in the hierarchy of the Centre. Any fool could have seen that. The lies had compounded too deeply to make the source of those responsible be anything other than someone within the Centre. Even Jarod, the outsider, knew the evidence pointed at those in power.

She had no desire to go home, and her mind was too active to even consider sleep. She decided to take a stab at Black Arrow and see what turned up before she turned the rest of the research task over to Broots in the morning. She would have an entire night to review the Black Arrow project and all its players so that she would be in the know and not relying on others for the facts.

Full coffee cup in hand, she traced the path to the labs where Sydney had conducted his historical simulations with Jarod, where the boy who had given the Centre a foothold in the logistics world had resided for years. Jarod had grown into an adult man, serving the only authority he had ever really known. He had given the Centre answers to so many political and technical puzzles. He revealed to them the unknown factors that could never have been fathomed by even the most experienced scientist. Most remarkably of all, he did so at a phenomenally young age.

Parker thought of Jarod as she walked through the quiet halls of the Centre. They had grown up together, despite the lack of a normal childhood. Somehow, she and Jarod had bonded as children. They shared the same burden of secrecy, the same forced insistence that the Centre was their home, that the outside world was just that – the outside.

A minimal security detail was on duty as she passed through the lower levels and into the testing labs. They revered Parker with an obliged nod, knowing that to extend communications any further was an invitation to be verbally slapped. She blew past them, not returning any sort of courtesy.

She went straight to Sydney's lab, where all of Jarod's clues and gifts were stored in a chronological array. There was no limit to the man's imagination. Each clue was a reflection of his latest exposure to culture. Toys, television shows, movies – Jarod had been denied them all his life, and he seemed to be making up for lost time.

The lab was dark except for minimal spots that lit the path to the desk on the far side where a DSA terminal sat. She sat down at the desk and began a search at the computer terminal. She sorted through the listings in the archives for Black Arrow. The hit was immediate, and she was presented with reference information as well as library numbers for the discs containing experiment video.

She read the description of the program. Black Arrow was the typical Centre foray into the world of telekinesis, something it thought to be an invaluable power if it could be harnessed and trained to do the impossible. She still had a hard time accepting the concept, since she had never known of any proven cases of the ability to truly exist. Then again, the Centre was full of unpublished secrets that even she was not privy to in the archives.

Parker was not surprised to find Raines listed as the project coordinator. It seemed that the more twisted the project, the more he was involved. Telekinesis, in its most basic form, was fascinating. Telekinesis with Raines as a mentor could only mean it was trying to be cultivated into something offensive.

Parker called to the upper floor archive for the discs that would give her a view of the project from the eagle eye view of Centre surveillance. She read the overview of the program on the DSA terminal while she waited for them to arrive.

In 1968, twelve children were inducted into the Centre for further evaluation of potential telekinetic and empathic development. Like many of the children brought into the ranks of research, they were blatantly taken from their families, never to be seen again by parents who mourned their loss. Parker knew it was no accident the children were taken young, ideally eight or nine years old. The mind was easier to mold, easier to convince than when the imprinting stage was far past completion. Fear was used to induce compliance, and Raines was a master of tormenting children into submission.

She read through the text of the project at length, absorbing all the sordid details and subject profiles. More than once, she had to stop and remind herself that the profiles were children who were now probably grown adults if the Centre had not already disposed of them. It was a morbid thought, but it did happen. The Centre was not averse to getting rid of dead weight. There was no letting the children return to the life that they once knew, with parents and order and freedom. That was a liability Raines would not allow. He would not allow his projects to be jeopardized by mere children, because children would talk. They would tell what had happened. There would be too many questions asked, and that was simply not acceptable. To Parker, that presented a problem.

"So, what are they doing roaming around in the free world?" she said to the empty room.

The discs she had requested arrived by courier. She accepted the delivery, dismissing the young man with a nod. Not even a word was exchanged between them. None was warranted. The hour was late, and Parker had a tendency to carry a bad mood when she worked late. That fact was not lost on the staff of the Centre.

She waited for the courier to close the door behind him before slipping the disc into the DSA. She sat back, bringing the coffee cup to her lips as she did so, and settled in to view the available surveillance video of the project.

For Centre Use Only.

_Surveillance – David and Jeanie – SL29 – Playroom_

_April 9, 1971 09:26_

_The camera peers through smoked glass. The children on the other side are oblivious to the man watching them from the other side of the mirror. Raines stands to the side of the glass to give the camera a full view of the events inside the playroom where an older boy and a very young girl sit amid blocks and assorted toys._

_Raines turns to the camera and speaks his introduction._

"_We've learned through one of the other children that David and Jeanie have bonded since coming to the Centre. David's extraordinary telekinetic powers have been dormant in all our testing. Yet, he displays them for the girl to comfort her."_

_He turns back toward the window. The camera view switches to the inside of the room and focuses closely on the children. David is dressed in a white cotton shirt and dark pants. He sits cross-legged opposite Jeanie. She is dressed in a dress that flourishes around her. It is difficult to discern the color because of the black and white quality of the recording._

_Jeanie's countenance is one of fear and despair. She is staring intently at a block on the floor. "I don't want to be here anymore, David. I want my mom and dad," she says._

_David nods solemnly. "I know, but I don't think any of us is going home for a while." He is trying to be strong and comforting, but the slight quaver in his voice betrays his own fear. "We just have to make the best of it, okay?"_

_Jeanie's head is still cast downward in sadness. Her swollen eyes indicate she has been crying recently. David reaches out and gently touches her chin, urging her to look at him, at his eyes._

"_You have to be strong, Jeanie. Promise?" There is an underlying desperation in his voice, noticeable only to an adult. A child of Jeanie's age, no more than seven or eight years old, is unlikely to understand how crucial his words really are._

_The girl's eyes are bright with tears that do not fall. Perhaps she is holding them back to be strong for David, just as he has asked. She waits a moment before speaking. Then she gives the slightest nod and says in an impossibly small voice, "I promise."_

_David smiles in what can only be relief. He appears comforted that she has not given argument to the request. "Good," he said solidly. Then, with a renewed smile he says, "Hey! Watch this!"_

_The camera's view loosens. The shot pans back to show the children and the array of toys surrounding them. David concentrates on a stuffed bear a few feet away from them. It is flat on its back, but not for long. It suddenly lurches, then stands erect and moves smoothly toward Jeanie._

_She is unable to suppress a giggle at the sight of a walking bear. Her arms stretch out before her, as if to coax it her way. The bear turns toward her in a clumsy motion and topples toward her waiting arms. She picks it up once it nears her, hugging it tightly._

_David smiles, too, happy to see Jeanie forget the rigors of the Centre for even a moment. He is happy he has brought her even a few minutes of respite from the fear all the children have been feeling since being brought to the Centre. He moves other toys, all to her delight. Their play time continues._

_The segment suddenly shifts to another time marker._

_Surveillance – David – SL31 – General Test Facility_

_March 12, 1972 11:14_

_While David's body has not aged, his eyes tell a different tale of stress. He looks defeated and tired. He is systematically moving object with his mind, hurling them with great velocity at a far wall. A tennis ball, a baseball, and finally an orange sail through the air and impact against the cinder block wall. The next few items are more unconventional for a small boy. They are lined up on the table by size, largest to smallest – a fragmentation grenade, a knife and a bullet. Each sails through the air at the wall. It is clear just how much control David has over each object. The knife and bullet fly point first, the way they were intended if being used to kill._

_Raines is there, beaming with pride at his successful specimen. David is developing better than expected. "Excellent, David," he says, approaching the boy. "Excellent," he repeats._

_David shows no emotion. He does not even regard the praise coming from Raines. His sight is concentrated on the wall, on the objects on the floor. His stare is cold, broken only when two guards enter the room to return him to his quarters._

_End of surveillance._

Parker's brow rose in amusement. "Oh, that's precious," she said to the empty room again. It was difficult enough to believe she was seeing the telekinetic ability in action, but it was a whole other thing to see it used in such a bizarre fashion and with a boy so young.

She turned her attention back to the text files of the project, piecing together its intent and that of Raines. She had a decent idea what that was already from the objects young David was hurling in the DSA video. Raines had been cultivating a human weapon.

It was the perfect idea, Parker admitted. The applications involving those with telekinetic abilities were infinite. The most significant of all possibilities was an anonymous assassin, one who killed with the power of thought to move deadly objects. There would be no trace evidence. Fingerprints would never be found because the need for physical contact with the object would be negated. Forensic investigators would be at a loss, trying to identify weapons that did not exist.

Parker continued her examination of Black Arrow's files, gleaning the highlights of the project. There were hundreds of pages of study information she would assign to one of the Centre's eggheads, most likely Broots. He would know to give her the condensed version of the story and highlight the important parts.

It was ironic to Parker how she allowed herself to trust Broots. She had power over him through both fear and his misplaced crush on her. That, she felt, gave her a measure of insurance against his misleading her or outright lying. Broots, his hair nearly gone at a premature age, represented the typified result of classmate torment and social inhibition. He bordered and perhaps sometimes achieved the level of genius in his work with the Centre's computer systems. The keyboard became an extension of his body when he worked, which was why Parker routinely dumped research work in his lap. She trusted he would reduce the reams of reports down to the important highlights and leave the rest for posterity.

And, she had to admit, there was a nerdish charm about him that she found comforting. He was one of the few people at the Centre who did not regard her with a hidden agenda. Broots was honest to a fault and a good father to his young daughter. He was a good man, by all accounts, which clashed horribly with the philosophy of the Centre.

She would instruct him to give the background information on David and Jeanie, maybe have one of his egghead cronies conduct an aging composite on the children's faces to show what they might look like twenty-five years later. For the moment, she would ignore her resentment of Lyle's assigning her to the "Where Are They Now?" game and enjoy the respite it brought from chasing Jarod across the country. She was tired, both physically and mentally, from always being one step behind the boy she had grown up with in the halls of the Centre.

Her eyes closed as she stretched her neck against the back of the chair. Maybe Lyle had been right. Maybe she did need a vacation. Then the images of his purported fantasies came to mind, reminding her of the need to be vigilant, especially around Lyle.

"Not a chance in hell, dear brother," she muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

Mind's Eye - Part 2

PRIME HOOK NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE

DELAWARE

6:54 a.m.

Jarod looked up into the sky and closed his eyes to the bright sun of fall. It was warm and bathed him in a soothing heat that would soon disappear in the coming winter months. With a deep breath, he drank in the smells of decaying leaves that were unique to the fall season. He wished he could bottle that moment, to savor it and forget that the rest of the world existed.

He grudgingly brought his head down and opened his eyes. He was new guy who would be starting today, a replacement for the officer who had been killed in the line of duty. It was five minutes to seven, and Jarod had no intention of being late his first day on the job. Deb Warren had never been late when she was with the rangers.

Jarod locked his car and headed toward the ranger station where an older woman was waiting, smiling broadly at him as he passed through the glass doors. He was a park ranger, in uniform and obviously catching the eye of the station's manager.

"May I help you?" she asked. Her stark white hair was a blatant contrast to the dark blue dress with small white flowers she wore.

His smile was kind. "I hope so," he said. "I'm Jarod Greer. I'm supposed to meet Captain Case here this morning."

She held out a greeting hand. "I'm Mildred Miles, Captain Case's secretary. Welcome to the Hook, Officer Greer. He should be here any moment."

As if on cue, the doors opened. A man stepped inside, wearing a uniform identical to Jarod's, save the captain's bars on his shoulders. Jarod towered over him by a good four inches, but the man's stocky build gave him the appearance of a bulldog. His hair was dark, combed to the left, his face strong and square.

"And you are?" the man asked without any warmth.

Jarod held out his hand. "Jarod Greer, sir. I'm your new officer."

The man hesitated for a moment. He seemed to resent Jarod's very presence in the station. The air bristled with tension. He reluctantly returned the handshake and said, "You're prompt. That's good."

Mildred gave a click of frustration with her tongue. "Jarod, this Captain Neil Case," she said with an equally frustrated shake of her head. "He may be the commander in these parts, but he could use some training in the hospitality department."

The corner of Case's mouth turned up in a smile toward Mildred. She was the ideal grandmother type who apparently had loving authority over even the park captain. Neil cleared his throat. "My apologies, Greer. As Mildred said, I'm Captain Neil Case. You'll be working on my crew here at Prime Hook."

Jarod smiled. "I'm looking forward to it, sir. It'll be nice to see the ocean."

"What brings you down to sea level? Most rangers wouldn't give up a mountain assignment on a bet, especially in the big parks."

The pretender gave a small shrug. "Poacher patrol gets a little lonely after a while. I wanted to see something different. When the slot opened up here, I took it."

Anger flashed on Neil's face, and he made no attempt to control it. "That slot didn't just 'open up' here, Greer. A ranger was killed in the line of duty, and you best always remember that. You read me?"

Mildred stirred uncomfortably behind the desk. She busied herself with papers, carefully removing herself from Neil's crosshairs.

Neil failed miserably to intimidate Jarod, because Jarod was there for purposes other than to be a park ranger. He stood his ground, not backing down at the wrath flung at him. "I heard about Officer Warren, sir. I'm sorry for your loss. It's never easy when you lose one of your own." He voice was gentle and understanding.

Case seemed to be at a loss how to respond. Jarod left no room to fire off another volley. His sympathy and politeness were genuine, leaving Neil to say quietly, "No, it isn't."

Mildred's lovely smile had turned to an impossibly sad look at the mention of Warren's name.

Neil sighed and adjusted his equipment belt. There was a definite detente in his agression. "Come on, Greer. I'll give you the nickel tour."

Jarod's mind cataloged the speed at which the entire encounter was taking place. The mention of Warren's death felt like taboo in the office. Mildred was still shuffling papers on her desk, looking up just long enough to give a comforting smile to Jarod as he followed Case out the door and into the parking lot.

The white Explorer with with kelly green stripes was parked in the first slot by the door. The shield of the park service was emblazoned on the door. They climbed inside the cab. Jarod buckled his seatbelt dutifully while Case seemed to rebel by refusing to use one.

Neil put the Explorer into gear and pulled out of the small parking lot. The roadway was smooth asphalt, a recent gift from the Department of the Interior. Not all the park had been upgraded, but enough of it was to keep the tourist contingent happy.

"I talked to Captain Richmond in Yellowstone about you. He said he couldn't place you but that your performance reviews were good."

Jarod felt relief that his methods of manufacturing work histories were still doing the trick. "Yellowstone is a large park. I was up in the higher elevations most of the time working poacher patrol. I didn't exactly make it into the administration building every day."

"So why the transfer? Weren't you happy taking aim at hunters?"

The question sounded distinctly like a test to Jarod. It was likely that Case was a hunter, himself, given the stuffed birds on the wall above his desk at the station. "It was a chance for a change of pace - a new identity, so to speak."

There was a slight twitch on Neil's face, as though the words had struck a nerve with him. "I think maybe the air was just too thin for you up there. We don't get that philosophical down here at sea level, Greer."

Jarod grinned. Case seemed to be opening up a bit, calming down from the exchange in the ranger station. They drove at length through the park. Neil pointed out various facilities for campers and tourists. The park was pristine and clean, suited for those who wanted to get away from the confines of the city but not too far away from basic creature comforts like showers and electricity.

The road abruptly turned to gravel and dust, the line of demarcation where Uncle Sam decided to halt his benevolence of road improvements. The trees grew thicker. Heavy pines and deciduous types with leaves on the run fought for space on the forest floor. The going was rough, even for the Explorer. They were on a winding road that circled through the thick woods. The campsites were more rudimentary in this portion of the park. There was plenty of room between the sites to allow for privacy. Down the stretch of road, the terrain began to change where a steep incline of rock rose into the sky. Below one of the bluffs was an abandoned site that looked as though it had not been used in weeks.

Neil pulled into the parking area of the site and cut the engine. He slouched back in his seat and stared out the windshield. Jarod knew where they were, and he knew why Case had brought him there.

The stand of trees was thick, creating a canopy of shadow against the strengthening sun. The air was damp with forest humidity that still clung to the branches. If someone wanted privacy, this was certainly the place to find it. The closest campsite was over fifty yards away from the bluffs.

"Right there," Neil said, nodding toward the rusted metal fire ring, "is where Officer Warren was shot and killed. She was thirty-two years old with a husband and a kid. Had one hell of a future ahead of her."

Jarod concentrated on the site, experiencing it in all its detail. His mind cataloged all the variables he saw. There were trees, hiding spots, a bluff high above them, places to run, places to hide. What he had read in the newspaper clippings was beginning to coalesce into the scene before him.

"What happened?" Jarod asked quietly.

Neil's stare was one of reverie as he stepped backwards in time to the night of the shooting. "College kids come back here to party because it's out of sight of our station. We had severe thunderstorms that night, lots of rain and lightning. The kids were drinking and getting as riled up as the weather was. Warren did a run through here to check on the sites because we've had some flooding in the past with the runoff from the bluffs."

Case paused and licked his dry lips, then continued. "The party was going at a pretty good clip. She got out to quiet them down and to let them know about the runoff. When she got up next to the fire ring, a sniper on the hill took his shot."

Jarod let a brief moment pass before he asked a question to which he already knew the answer. "Did you get the shooter?"

Neil head bobbed slightly in affirmation. "Yeah, we got him," he said softly. "Some nut from up state got a Rambo urge and decided to do a little uniform hunting. Said he figured a cruiser would show up eventually to the loudest party." His face became hard. "He lured Warren here like an animal and shot her."

Case turned toward Jarod. "That's why we don't respond to calls around here alone. You get me on that one, Greer?"

Jarod was somber. "Yes, sir, I get you."

Another beat of silence passed before Neil turned over the engine of the Explorer and turned it back onto the road. "Let's head back and get some coffee."

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At The Old Mill Stream Coffee Shop near the Broadkill River, Jarod sat in the Explorer while Neil ran inside for coffee. In the moment of privacy, the pretender took out a small red book and leafed through the contents.

The first page contained an article entitled, "RESERVE MOURNS LOSS OF OFFICER." Deborah Warren's picture lay alongside the words, accounting the facts of her job, her motherhood and her marriage. All had been robbed of existence by a man in the woods.

The second article read, "PARK SERVICE AWARDS MEDALS." One was given posthumously to Warren, and another was given to Neil Case for his work in capturing the gunman. The picture for the article was that of Case loading the suspect into the squad car. The author praised Neil's professionalism and tenacity in bringing a killer to justice and how proud the public could be of its servants.

Jarod closed the book and slipped it back into his briefcase. He was sure he was in the right place. He only hoped it was at the right time.


	3. Chapter 3

Mind's Eye - Part 3

The late night hours evolved into early dawn. Parker was so immersed in Black Arrow's files that she did not notice Sydney enter the lab until he was at the top of the short flight of steps leading into the lower section. She felt truly nonplussed that he was there.

"Miss Parker, you're here awfully early," he commented, descending the three steps. His accented voice held the slightest hint of surprise.

She looked at him with little energy. "Speak for yourself, Freud. What's the matter – couldn't stay away from happy mill?"

He approached her cautiously, removed his jacket and laid it across a chair. He sat down in front of her and folded his arms. "Have you been here all night?"

The lack of sleep made her sarcasm level rise. "Am I wearing the same clothes you saw me in yesterday?"

A wry smile crept upon his lips, but his face was soft and caring. His eyes gave full concentration to hers. "You've been staying here quite a few nights lately since Thomas's funeral."

Parker felt herself becoming defensive. "Yeah, so?"

He did not bow to her acidic manner. "I'm here if you want to talk, Miss Parker," he said gently.

A short laugh escaped her, and she sank back in her chair. "What's to talk about? Thomas is dead, and the Centre's cold little heart goes on beating. End of story."

"Is it?" he tested.

Her jaw became set. "For now," she said in a near growl.

"I see," he said quietly. "And what then?"

She chose her words carefully, fully aware that Centre surveillance cameras were recording their conversation. Her eyes drew up into slits. "I don't want to spoil the surprise."

Parker could have sworn Sydney was taking some form of amusement in her words. What he could never understand was the black hate that boiled within her. She would find those responsible for killing Thomas. By the time she finished exacting a proper justice, hell would seem like a vacation spot. Whoever was responsible would be begging to die.

He peered at the DSA terminal, nodding toward it. "Have you discovered a new lead on Jarod?"

"No," she answered, grateful for change in topic, "Raines gave lap boy orders to find test subjects from twenty-five years ago. Unfortunately, my dear brother is going on vacation. The task has fallen to me to find them so the sucking wind bag can see how his experiments have grown."

"Twenty-five years? That's quite a while ago. What was the project?"

"Something called 'Black Arrow'."

Sydney pondered the project name. "Yes, I seem to remember a program by that name but I can't recall the details. What was it?"

Parker turned the DSA screen back on and called up the project overview file. "Apparently, Raines was looking for children with psychic abilities. Most of them were reported to be telepathic, but there were a few he believed possessed telekinetic powers. From what I can see from the discs, he was teaching one of them how to hurl bullets with a thought."

Sydney's face showed curiosity laced with alarm. "A telekinetic assassin?"

"Precisely the stuff of Broots's comic books," she deadpanned.

"That certainly gives new meaning to the ice bullet technique," he said.

"The problem is that the files on Black Arrow are incomplete or missing. Once again, it appears someone's fingers did some walking through the archives and erased more of the Centre's dirty little secrets."

"I'll have Broots start a trace when he gets in this morning. Perhaps there are residual files hidden in other areas." He took a measured breath. "In the meantime, why don't you go home and rest? You look – "

"Like hell, I know," she snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. "The next person who tells me that gets shot."

Sydney pulled back slightly in surprise. "I was going to say that you looked like you could use a hot bath and some breakfast, but if you prefer shooting someone, be my guest. There are plenty of targets walking around at the Centre lately. Just try to keep it out of the lab."

Parker held her forehead in her hand, feeling suddenly exhausted and sorry she bit at him. "I'm sorry, Syd," she apologized wearily. "I know you're just trying to help, but this is something I have to work through on my own."

"You do have friends who care about you, Miss Parker," Sydney advised. "Broots and I, and even Jarod."

Her eyes rolled instinctively. How she was really beginning to hate that name. The Hallmark moment dissolved into her headache giving a lurch of annoyance at the mention of Jarod. She closed the DSA case lid and stood.

"Have Broots call me when he has something."

She took quick steps toward the door in order to avoid any more of Sydney's friendly psychobabble. The goal was to go home now and maybe catch a few hours of sleep so she could get back in to the chase game later that morning.

Sydney had been right on a few accounts, she considered as she drove home. Parker had been spending nights at the Centre for reasons she was not sure she was ready to identify. There was work to be done, and that was the only thing keeping her going.

She thought about the children she had watched on the DSA and about how Raines looked like Beelzebub in bad seventies plaid. He was a pariah, a leach on the back of humanity no matter what he did. He scared Parker when she was a child, and for good reason. She had an instinct for people, and Raines triggered every warning mechanism in her brain any time he was near.

She concentrated on the images of David in the DSA. He did not look like he appreciated Raines' praise and perhaps even loathed his mentor. He was wise at such a young age, knowing full well he was a prisoner of the Centre and would never see his family again. He was the one child who fell out of the age scale with the other children, and that bothered Parker. Why would Raines take a chance on an older child like that who was likely to rebel at almost anything he was asked to do? The only conclusion she could draw was that David's extraordinary abilities outweighed the parameters of the age limit for the experiment. It was clear that he could move objects with his mind.

So what would a kid like that have grown into after twenty-five years? Stockbroker did not seem a likely choice, nor did any other white-collar occupation. A military or agency assassin, perhaps? Yes, that seemed a more sound theory. The Centre frequently "loaned" gifted subjects to the military for further research or special operations. It was entirely possible that David was now a CIA ghost, programmed to do the bidding of those who technically did not exist.

After a while, her house came into view. With it came a sinking feeling in Parker's chest, as though her heart lost all life. It would be empty inside, with only memories to remind her of the way things once were. Those she loved were ensconced in photographs and mementos that were sacred to her. They were memories of better times, of better people than the ones she associated with lately.

She parked her car and went inside the house, tossing her keys on the bureau by the door. As she turned to head into the kitchen, she nearly missed the small gold foil box on the corner of the bureau. She froze for a moment and stared at it. She knew who had to have put it there. Only one person could possibly have come into her home and left it.

Jarod was invading her life again.

Parker was inclined to leave the box there and ignore it. The bath seemed like a better option than to open herself to another one of Jarod's games. She continued to watch the box, as though waiting for the surprise to jump out at her. It certainly would not have been the first time that happened with one of his presents. It sat dormant, though, holding a secret beneath its cover. It had been her mission to capture Jarod for so long that she could not deny her curiosity of the contents. It was nearly an involuntary act as she snatched it up in her hand and opened the lid.

From inside, she pulled a tiny pendant. It was triangular in shape, three loops intertwined to form an eternal pattern - the Trinity Knot. She held it in the palm of her hand and traced the pattern with her eyes. She then looked in the box for the other contents and found what looked like puzzle parts. Immediately, she recognized it was a photograph that had been cut into interlocking pieces.

She moved quickly to the desk on the far side of the living room and turned on the light. The pieces were dumped onto the desk where she began assembling them. The picture was black and white, six inches high and four inches wide. The pieces were of moderate size, using a standard puzzle piece shapes she remembered assembling when she was a child.

The corners and edges were put in place first, then the inside of the photograph began to take form. A nun and two children were pictured. The nun was behind a boy and a girl, her arms draped over them affectionately. The boy had dark hair, and he looked so unhappy in his school uniform. The white shirt and dark pants hung on him as though they were two sizes too big. The girl was equally unhappy. Her eyes were hollow, as though she saw nothing before her. Her school uniform seemed to be a more proper fit than the boy's did. The plaid jumper hung on her small frame like a drape. Her wild blonde hair was a chorus of curls atop her head.

Finally, Parker examined the nun and noted how young the woman was. Her face was fresh and full of life as it peered out of the shroud of her habit. Her eyes glistened with life and energy, so opposite of the children she held.

When she finished the rudimentary assembly of the picture, she removed the tissue paper from the box, looking for some kind of note to explain the photo but found none. It obviously meant something, but what? Where the hell was Jarod's mockery? He usually sent a note with every clue he chose to shower upon the Centre and Parker. This box, though, was empty. It was devoid of subterfuge and misdirection. It was simply there, on her bureau for her to find.

Parker carefully put the pieces back into the box. She had been so exhausted when she arrived home, but she was fully awake now. Her adrenaline was renewed for reasons she could not say. She knew what she would do. A shower, a change of clothes, maybe a piece of fruit, and she would be on her way back to the Centre to deliver the contents of the box personally to Broots so he could reconstruct the contents. Lyle's shuffle pass of assignments to her would wait. Raines would get his report sooner or later, whenever that happened.

Her mind hit the brakes so suddenly that she let out an ironic giggle. Jarod had done it again. He had her on the run, on his terms. The gold foil box in her hand contained his lure to keep her in the game. He was trying to make her understand his loss, trying to make her empathize with what he felt by his entrapment in the Centre.

Dammit, she raged, she had known loss, too. Someone had killed her mother. Her father was nothing more than a Centre spook for all the good that had done her in her childhood years. He used his daughter when it suited his needs with the Centre. One of his needs of late was to bring Jarod into custody to keep the Triumvirate from removing precious parts of his anatomy.

Lyle's job for her was fluff. Jarod was the real deal. She pushed her personal feelings aside and concentrated on her priorities. Her task was to catch Jarod. The box contained another clue to doing that.

Parker had a job to do. The Centre wanted its pretender back, and that was exactly what she intended to give it.


	4. Chapter 4

Mind's Eye - Part 4

The weather forecast was excellent for the next few days. That brought out more campers for the weekend trying to get in one last hurrah before the weather snapped into the frigid range. Jarod reported for work, stopping in to get his duty assignment from Mildred in the station. He brought with him a cup of coffee and a bagel for her from the Old Mill Stream shop, which was only a half a mile down from his temporary home at the Edison Motel.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed as she brought the box of breakfast treats down to her desk. "This is just what I need this morning. It was bingo night at the fireman's hall, and I'm afraid I was up way past my hours. Thank you, Officer Greer!"

"Please, call me Jarod," he said, taking pleasure in the joy he had brought her. He liked doing that for people. Some days, it seemed to take so little to make them happy. Their wonderment was an immeasurable gift to him he was only now beginning to enjoy.

Mildred split the bagel apart and lathered cream cheese on it. She offered a half to Jarod, but he declined. "This so kind of you," she said. "Everything is so far away from the station. We don't exactly have fast food around the corner." She gave a quiet giggle of laughter that was infectious.

Jarod sat on the corner of her desk. "If there's a down side to being in the wilderness, that would be it." He let her consume another bite, then he said, "Mildred, could I ask you a question?"

She nodded with her mouth full of bagel.

"What happened the night Officer Warren was killed?"

Mildred's jaw stopped chewing, and it looked as though she suddenly found the bagel distasteful. She swallowed. As it had the day before, her face became sad.

"It was a terrible night, Jarod. We lost a good friend. Deb was very loved here by everyone. Try as I might, I still can't make sense of it all."

"I'd really like to know how it all happened. Somehow, I don't think Captain Case is going to tell me."

She looked at him solemnly. "Probably not. He blames himself for her death."

"I don't understand."

Mildred paused a moment, as if to decide if Jarod could be trusted. "Neil was her backup on that call. The rains caused a washout in the road he was on, and she went in alone. He thinks she might still be alive today had he been there."

"Would she?"

She shook her head. "No. The coroner determined that there was too much damage to her heart from the bullet. Even if Neil had been there, there wouldn't have been enough time to help her."

"She wasn't wearing a vest?" Kevlar had become standard issue for duty officers in the field.

"As a matter of fact, she was. The investigators said the shot came from up high and that the angle allowed it to enter above the vest. Neil managed to get there before she died, but it was only a few minutes. I just wish he had a few more."

"I take it they were close?"

The smile returned to Mildred's face. "Childhood friends, actually. Neil's taking her death very, very hard. I feel just terrible for him."

"I understand," Jarod said with feeling. He stood and put on his sunglasses. He could have sworn he saw a beguiled look in Mildred's eyes. He felt the heat in his cheeks as he blushed just a bit. "Enjoy the bagel, Mildred."

On his way out to his patrol car, Jarod got the DSA terminal from his own and pushed it into the passenger seat. He found a quiet spot in the park and logged in to Delaware's state police archive. After a quick search, he was looking at the case file on Officer Deborah Warren and the conclusions of her death.

Just as Mildred had explained, the bullet that killed Warren had come down at a sharp angle and entered just above the clavicle. The path documented by the coroner showed an almost impossible turn downward toward her arteries, which were severed, in the final assault. She bled to death at site ninety, in the arms of Neil Case on that rainy night in late July.

No weapon was ever found, according to the state police. After a thorough search of the woods that included a K9 unit, the only evidence found of the shooter was his hiding spot that had been his point of attack. Peter Stoltz admitted in his statement to investigators that he had waited for Deborah Warren to kill her, just as Neil had said.

Deb was a striking woman with blonde hair kept just above the shoulders per regulations. Her sharp blue eyes and crisp features gave her a youthful look that did not betray her age. She smiled happily for her service picture, and Jarod could only infer that she loved her life and her job. That love was a stark contrast to the way her it had all come to an abrupt end. Perhaps the only comfort for her was that she was not alone when death found her. If Mildred was accurate, then Warren had died in the arms of a true friend.

Stoltz was convicted of the murder a little over a month later, fully admitting and pleading guilty to the charges levied against him. The courts placed him in maximum security at Delaware's State Penitentiary for Men. He was sentenced to remain there for the rest of his natural life. He would still have been there at that moment except that someone had orchestrated his escape. He was on the run and free to kill again, something he could do with a thought.

Jarod closed the DSA terminal and took a deep breath. It was a huge risk to use Neil Case as bait, but there was little choice. Stoltz would finish what he started. He would come back to kill Neil when the opportunity presented itself. Jarod only hoped that he would be there to intervene and keep an innocent man from dying.

The patrol radio crackled to life. Mildred's voice rang out from the speaker. "Unit Seven, do you copy?"

He picked up the mic. "Unit Seven, go."

"Jarod, we just got a call from Carl Homer on Old Smith Road. He's complaining of hunters coming on to his property again. Wants someone out there to take his complaint. Are you available?"

"I'm on my way."

After a quick reference to the local road guide, Jarod was en route to a property that was adjacent to the south point of Prime Hook's border. He enjoyed the drive through the park, grateful for the chance to get a feel for the terrain and of where Stoltz might strike. The assassin's profile suggested his programming had made him accustomed to using rural terrain to hide his passage to and from the hit. He was geared to fighting in hostile environments, using the trees and the rocks for camouflage until he safely escaped his assignment.

Jarod remembered Peter's mug shot and wondered if he would look the same. He wondered if he would even recognize Stoltz when or if he saw him. There was no telling how extensive the Centre's training had been or how independently Stoltz was thinking in order to protect his operations. As far as Jarod knew, Peter was six feet, one inch with sandy hair and a gaunt face. Chocolate brown eyes made the sockets look hollow and dead, as though he were in another world that was outside the realm of human existence. After being a prisoner of the Centre, perhaps Stoltz really was.

The property owned by Carl Homer was impressive to say the least. A large log cabin built with virgin pine stood at the end of a long gravel drive just off Route 9. There was man on the porch waiting for Jarod's arrival. His black skin was muscled and youthful against the white hair on his head. His white tank top and khakis stood out in contrast to his dark complexion.

Jarod got out of the patrol car with a report kit and headed for the steps to the porch of the cabin.

Carl stepped forward with a curious look. "You the new guy?"

The pretender held out his hand. "Jarod Greer. I understand you wanted to file a complaint?"

Homer shook it with a strong grip. "Yep, I do," he answered in a deep voice that had an unexpected New England flair to it.

"What seems to be the problem?"

Carl motioned to one of the chairs on the porch for Jarod. They sat down. "I'll tell you what's the problem. The damned hunters is leavin' their traps on my land again. I'm afraid to go out for a walk anymore."

"I see. What kind of traps?"

Carl snorted. "Bear, mostly, but it don't matter much when something get caught in 'em. It bound to kill whatever it get."

Jarod's job was to be a ranger. He was acting as a public servant. In order to fulfill the entire simulation, he would act the part to the last detail. "Can you show me some of these traps?"

The older man gave a shrug and said, "Sure I can, but I don't know what good it'll do. That officer who was killed a few months back used to take reports from me all the time. She even managed to get one the fellas that was settin' 'em, but that was it. As soon as one leaves, another moves in to set some more." Carl cleared his throat and cast his eyes downward. "I'm sorry to hear she passed, by the way. She was a real nice lady."

"That's what everyone tells me," Jarod answered. "So why don't I pick up where Officer Warren left off and go take a look at the traps? Maybe we'll get another one."

Homer's demeanor brightened at the sign of help from the replacement ranger. He led Jarod into the woods, down a path that had been cut through some of the thickets. They came to an area of high grass that lay alongside a medium sized stream. The blades were still bright green, lapping up the last warm rays before the next season entered the area.

"It's right here," Carl said, leading the way.

And there it was. A rusted claw trap sat ready to snare whatever stepped into it. The heavy steel teeth looked like a gruesome mouth emerging from the ground. Jarod approached it cautiously, checking the area around it for others. Getting down on his haunches, he examined it closely. It looked even fiercer than it had from a distance.

Jarod straightened and walked a few steps away toward some fallen branches. He found the thickest one in the bunch and returned to the trap.

"Stand back," he warned Carl.

With a gentle tap, he triggered the plate in the center. The jaws snapped closed with lightning speed, cutting the branch in two. It was a horrifying thought what it would do to flesh.

"See what I mean?" Carl asked with frustration. "I ain't tellin' nobody they can't hunt. I hunt, myself, every fall here. That stuff, though," he said, shaking his head, "that stuff's just not right. Not for man or animal."

They searched the immediate area and found one more. Jarod activated and bound it to the first trap, securing both in the trunk of his patrol car when they returned to Carl's cabin. A little bit of paperwork was filled out, and Jarod was ready to leave.

"If you see anyone or find any more traps, give the station a call," Jarod said.

Carl still looked angry, and he was justified. Not only had someone been trespassing on his property, they were setting dangerous traps that would maim and possibly even kill whatever got caught in them. "I'll do just that. Thank you, Officer Greer."

"Any time." Jarod gave a polite smile and got back in the patrol car.

He got no further than the end of the gravel driveway when Mildred's voice was back on the air. "Unit Seven, Unit One is requesting backup at site eighty-eight. Are you clear from Carl Homer's place?"

Jarod keyed the mic. "Unit Seven, all clear. What's the problem at site eighty-eight?"

"The captain's checking out another party. He'd like to you stop on by if you're available."

He was. "I'm on my way."


	5. Chapter 5

Mind's Eye - Part 5

By the time Parker returned to the Centre, its operations were in full swing. Workers traveled through the halls with purpose, not deviating or stopping to talk. There was little time for socialization within the walls of the nation's think tank. No one acknowledged Parker as she stepped on to the elevator and pushed the button for the lower levels. The lower levels were restricted. Everyone in the car with her who was not authorized would exit before it descended to her destination.

She carried the gold box in her pocket, feeling impatient to get the evidence to Broots so he could reassemble the parts. Then she could look at it in its entirety and see what it was Jarod was trying to tell her. He was always careful in that regard. Nothing was as it seemed. He never gave the answer outright. There was the ritual task of figuring out the message and finding out how it fit into Jarod's psyche.

Parker's haste to leave the house had left her little time to dress with the care she normally did. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror mounted in the hallway to the labs. Her body was still functional and in good shape. She demanded that much of it to be able to wear the short business skirts and heels that left men panting in her wake. Today's color matched her mood – charcoal gray.

She found Sydney looking over Broots' shoulder when she entered the lab. Broots was typing away like a madman into the Centre's terminal when she tossed the box Jarod had left on the desk.

"What's that?" Sydney said, looking up at her.

"A mystery gift left in my house. I'm assuming it's from the boy genius."

Sydney picked up the box and opened it. He pulled out the pendant, then fished around the picture parts with his finger. Lowering the box to Broots, he gave it to the younger man to examine.

Broots accepted it nervously. He was nervous whenever Parker was around. "A picture?" he asked after a brief look inside the box.

She cocked her head slightly to the side. "And they pay you how much to work here?"

He retreated at her assault. In a way, she regretted the acid tongue she had with him some days. On the other hand, she argued, some people cried out to be abused. Broots was one of them.

"Yes, a picture, Broots. I want it reconstructed pronto."

"Shouldn't be hard," he hazarded, "the parts seemed to interlock, like a puzzle."

The temptation to beat him to death verbally was bordering on the need for a fix. She held her words, though, the silence more effective than any phrase she could have spat at him. Her glare was good enough to send him out of the room in moments.

Sydney leaned against the wall and folded his arms. "I thought you were going to go home and get some rest?"

"And I thought you were going to give me something better to work with to catch Jarod."

"He doesn't exactly make the game easy, Parker. He was given the gift to outsmart the smartest."

Parker dropped down into the chair in front of the desk and crossed one leg over the other. God, how she wished Sydney would just shut up some days and quit expounding on the wonders of Jarod.

"Spare me the museum tour of Jarod's life. He's not breaking into your house to leave you boxes of cut up pictures, now is he?"

Sydney sighed. "Why do you have such a difficult time accepting that you and Jarod are of the same cloth? You have more in common than you're willing to admit."

"Let's get something straight – Jarod is nothing more to me than the key to getting out of here. I don't give a damn about his identity crisis or the fact that he can't seem to hold on to a job like the rest of us. If you have guilty feelings about his childhood, take it up with him. Don't try to factor me in to that mess."

The psychiatrist's brow rose. "I'm afraid you've been a factor for a very long time, Miss Parker. That's not likely to ever change for Jarod."

Her headache returned. So did her longing for a cigarette. Nicotine would have made all this so much easier. Her fingers tapped nervously on the arm of the chair until she realized Sydney was taking notice. "Where the hell is Broots?"

"I'm right here," Broots answered, approaching with same nervous twitches as when he left. "I scanned it in to the system. The computer should have it put together by now."

He stood there, looking at Parker, awaiting her order. His hands were shoved into his pockets. His usual bowling shirt attire looked as trashy as ever.

"Sometime today, Broots?" she said, snapping her fingers.

He jumped at the action. "Right," he said, skidding behind the desk.

He typed away furiously on the keyboard until the picture puzzles became an assembled photograph on the screen. Parker stood and walked behind Broots for a better look. The computer moved the pieces together in a smooth motion until it was complete. The image was what Parker had seen in her home, but it was clearer now. The details came out fully. The pendant in the box was around the girl's neck. The knot was tiny but discernable against the white uniform shirt she wore.

Sydney drew the same conclusion. "She's wearing it in the picture. But who is she?"

Broots spoke. "I can try to run a check on the kids, but I might be able to isolate the school in the background. There's a sign on it."

His fingers flew on the keyboard again, drawing up commands faster than Parker cared to decipher. A crosshair covered the sign followed by a magnification box. The computer continued to blow up the image at with the commands Broots was typing until he had a name on the screen. It read "St. Agatha's Parish School".

"Broots," Parker said, feeling a twinge of excitement at the lead, "find that school. I also want to know what those kids would look like today."

"Assuming they're still alive," Sydney mused. "There's no telling how old that photograph is."

Sydney was right. The picture could have been taken in the forties for all she knew.

"If they're alive, I want to know what interest Jarod has in them," she demanded. "Call me when you have it. I'll be in my office."

Her exit from the lab was swift. She could not stand the thought of chitchat with Sydney while Broots worked his nerd magic on her assignments. Her adrenaline from finding the box was waning. Parker's skin was electric with exhaustion. When she reached her office, she left orders with her assistant that she was not to be disturbed, to include phone calls. With a twist of the lock on her door, she was alone in the quiet confines of the office.

She leaned back in her chair, giving a passing thought to Lyle intrusion the night before and to the smugness he exuded every minute of every day. Some day, she would do something about that.

Sleep was a need crying to be satisfied in her very bones. A few hours of sleep would rejuvenate her and let her continue with her quest to capture Jarod. Her eyes closed without restraint. She allowed herself to drift off into a thick haze of sleep. Restless images bombarded her as they usually did. It was difficult to quell them, which was why she had not slept a complete night's rest in so long. She let the images have their way, not fighting what came into her mind's eye. The past was merciful sometimes, giving her more than just fleeting glimpses of those she loved. Sometimes, she could relive entire moments she held so dear.

This sleep, though, held no images of her family or those she loved. The girl in the picture kept reappearing, the small face and fearful eyes. She seemed familiar to Parker, but where had she seen her? Black and white – everything in the dream was devoid of color. The face was one she had seen before, she was sure. The child reached out to Parker, as if to ask for help. There was only silence. At that moment, Parker awoke and knew who she was.

Just to be sure, she called up Black Arrow's files and found Jeanie's profile. Were they one in the same? Parker could not tell for sure, but it had to be. It would make sense that Jarod would have his finger on the pulse of the Centre and whatever Raines was up to at the time. He had done it before, tipping off Parker personally to secret Centre actions that had big consequences.

She looked at her watch. Three hours had passed since she dozed. Her adrenaline returned with the potential connection she had made. Her reentry into Sydney's lab was at a fast but measured pace. Broots was still there, working on the tasks she had assigned him earlier.

"Broots," she called from the doorway as she entered, "pull up Black Arrow's DSA. Find a child in it named Jeanie and compare it to the one in the photo."

His head shot up at the order. "Oh, o-okay," he stammered as he tried to comply, but it was clear he was skeptical.

She was behind him in moments, eager to see the video once more, eager to know if she had made the right connection. She watched with unvoiced amazement as he isolated Jeanie's face from the DSA record and brought it side by side to the photo's image. With the exception of a difference in hair color, it was definitely the same girl.

"Hey, look at that," Broots exclaimed with wonder, "she's her. I mean, she's the girl."

Parker studied the two images. "Yes, she is," she agreed. "So, what' does Jarod have to do with her?"

"Well," Broots said, swallowing hard, "I may have something for you. I managed to get that age composite done, and I'm running it through the database to see if anything turns up. So far, nothing, but I'll let it run and see if we get a hit."

"Let's see her."

Broots brought up the enhanced image of the girl, showing what she might look like in the present day "I had to guess on the hair, but the face should be pretty close."

Visions of Broots playing paper dolls with the different hairstyles flashed in Parker's mind, and she quickly stomped them away. It was simply too scary to contemplate. Surprisingly, she discovered that his flair for hair design was decent, despite the fact that his was nearly gone. He gave Jeanie somewhat of a bobbed look that seemed to accommodate her features.

"Print it," she ordered. She looked around the lab. "Where's Sydney?"

"He's checking his files to see if there's anything in there about that pendant. There was some writing on the back, something in Latin. He's researching it now."

Parker got the printout of adult Jeanie and took off toward Sydney's lab, eager to tell him what she had found. When she arrived, she found him hunched over the pendant, magnifying glass in hand.

"Sydney, the little girl in the photo and in the DSA are one in the same."

He looked up, startled at her entrance. "Jeanie? How did you make that connection?"

"It doesn't matter," she said dismissing the question. "The point is that we know she somehow ended up at St. Agatha's Parish School."

"I have something for you, as well." He picked up the pendant for her to view. "There's a tiny inscription on the back."

"Broots said you'd found one. What does it say?"

He picked up the pendant and handed it to her. "The words are 'nobles oblige' – 'with nobility, there is obligation'."

"How poetic. What does it mean to us?"

"I'm afraid I haven't come up with that one yet," Sydney admitted. "It may not have anything at all to do with what Jarod is trying to tell us."

"Or it may have everything to do with it," she countered, handing the necklace back to him. "It wouldn't be the first time he's sent us something with that kind of moral swill."

"True, but somehow I don't think this is a message so much as a clue to something we need to do."

Sydney's departure from his usual psychoanalytical reasoning was unexpected. "Care to elaborate?"

"As you said, we've seen this type of message before, but the others have always been in rebellion of his time here at the Centre. The inscription on the pendant suggests there is something that we are obligated to do in order to maintain who we are. He wants us to separate ourselves from the chain of power at the Centre."

She craned her neck to stretch the taut muscles attached to her back. She longed for a straight answer, just once, from the man she was supposed to capture.

"How do you even come up with that from two words, Sydney?" she asked sharply. "Sometimes, I think you make it up."

Sydney grinned. "Miss Parker, keep in mind that the Centre was not always on wrong side of humanity. When people like your mother and father first began work here, it was doing some rather wonderful things for people. It was intended to help the world, not hurt it."

"One hell of a ninety degree turn, eh, doc?"

His grin faded quickly. He had been a part of that turn. He was an active participant in Jarod's imprisonment, justifying it by counseling Jarod in the simulations meant to further the dark endeavors of the Centre. "Yes."

Parker was in no mood to dwell on Sydney's guilty feelings. "In any case, we need to find Jarod. So, how does that pendant help us?"

"It is interesting you should mention the shape of the pendant. It's the Trinity Knot, symbolizing the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Celtic and Catholic in nature, which would be consistent with the nun in the picture. Perhaps it was hers and she gave it to Jeanie?"

"And?" Parker prompted impatiently.

"And nothing, Parker," Sydney replied with a hint of defensiveness. "I'm merely trying to piece this together to get you the answers you need."

His phone chattered with an electronic shrill. He answered and hung up after a few quick words. He turned to Parker. "Broots thinks he's found St. Agatha's."

Parker felt like she was running a marathon around the halls of the Centre, burning holes in the floor between the lab and Sydney's office. Broots was excited as he urged them near the desk to show them the progress he had made.

On the screen was the picture puzzle. "I started breaking down each piece to see if there was something we could use to find the school. Well, as you know, it's always in the last place you look. When I got to the bottom of the picture, I found this.

With some typing, he zoomed in on a segment containing a portion of the curb where the children were standing. On it was painted a set of faint black numbers – an address. "I had the computer enhance the numbers and it came up with 9874. So, I cross referenced it with all the St. Agatha parishes in the U.S. and came up with a hit. Georgetown, Delaware."

Parker drew back, satisfied that she now had direction in which to search for Jarod. "Get me a print of that picture. I'm going to Georgetown."


	6. Chapter 6

Mind's Eye - Part 6

Neil Case was idling in his car at the end of the road that led to site eighty-eight. Jarod pulled up next to him, rolling down the passenger window so they could speak.

"Glad you could make it, Greer," Case said gruffly, as though displeased with the amount of time it had taken Jarod to respond.

"Someone's putting traps on Carl Homer's property again," Jarod explained.

Neil nodded. "Yeah, I heard the call this morning. You get him squared away out there?"

"Yes, sir. He filed another report, and I'll do some checking later on today to see if I can find anything."

"Take care of him," Case admonished. "He's been a resident here for a long time. He's been good to the rangers when they've needed him."

"I'll do that," Jarod promised. "What's the situation here?"

Case looked impassive except for the steely look in his eyes that belayed total concentration. "The same thing it always is this time of year. Kids back near the bluffs getting out of control. Someone called in a complaint to the station. We're going to go quiet them down before it gets out of hand."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to keep your eyes peeled, Greer. Sometimes, it can get out of hand if they've been drinking, which they probably have."

There was a moment of mental transmission between Jarod and Neil, as though Neil was admitting that Warren's death was too fresh in his mind to ignore the fear he felt. Jarod could not blame him. The trauma of that night must have been overwhelming.

Before Jarod could respond, Case slipped the cruiser into gear and pulled ahead down the road. Jarod followed, and they were soon at the site of the complaint. An immediate hush fell over seven people staying there. They were older, probably out of college but not old enough to have lost touch with those with whom they went to school. There was no way they could hide all the beer cans. Part of the fire ring had been used as a disposal where they were trying to melt the remains of the cans with a hot blaze.

Case stepped out of his vehicle and casually hitched up his equipment belt that held a nine-millimeter semi-automatic pistol. Various other accessories were attached to the belt, the kind of fare a cops needed on patrol. Jarod's was nearly the same, except Neil had taken the liberty of packing two spare magazines for his gun in addition to the two that would have been normally carried.

Together, they approached the quieted group. Neil's face was stony, exuding his authority loud and clear to them. "Howdy," he said in a clear voice. "What's going on back here today?"

A tall, lanky man stepped forward. He was the epitome of the California surfer – long hair, bleached by the sun, tan. He looked quite nervous to be addressed by Case. "Hi, officer. Were we too loud?"

Jarod detected a buried grin on Neil's face, perhaps because Neil was remembering when he was that age. "Well, seems the folks down the road came up here for some peace and quiet. They said all they been hearing all day is your party here. From the looks of it, I'd say you're having quite a serious one." He gave a nod toward the fire ring.

The surfer kid gave a glance back at the fire and winced. "Yeah," he said slowly, knowing they had been caught bringing alcohol into a national park. It was strictly against the rules.

Neil moved in closer to the throng. "You all have some ID?"

The leader prompted everyone to produce licenses proving their ages. "I promise there's no one underage here, sir," he said respectfully. "We're up here on a college reunion."

Neil and Jarod examined each and every license to make sure no one was lying. As Jarod had suspected, they were all in their late twenties, not too old yet to be out of the partying phase.

"You do know alcohol is not permitted in the park, correct?" Case asked, again using his authoritative voice.

No one answered, but it was clear they knew the rules.

"That leaves me with a little problem. I know you folks are having a good time, and no one wants to spoil that. On the other hand, I can't have you all disturbing other campers in the park and being stupid. And I'll tell you this," Case said, allowing a long pause for effect as he eyed each camper individually, ending with the surfer, "it would be a hell of a thing if we get called out here the rest of the weekend to quiet you folks down. If you all have college degrees, I suspect now would be the time to put that knowledge to use. Last time I checked, they did have classes on discretion at some of our finest universities."

The surfer looked as though he was processing Neil's words, reluctant to draw a verbal conclusion. Neil gave him no time to respond. He merely gave a half salute with a flick of his fingers and motioned for Jarod to follow.

When they were out of earshot of the group, Jarod asked, "You let them go? Aren't they in violation of the park's rules with the beer?"

Neil took a deep, satisfied breath and let it out slowly. "They're kids. We'll give them one more chance. As long as they're not acting stupid, I usually let it go. If they screw up, I throw the book at them. It's that discretion thing I was mentioning."

"I see," Jarod said, though he was still slightly confused. The rules were the rules, as far as he had ever known at the Centre. The idea of bending or even breaking them still felt foreign and wrong.

"Let's walk," Neil said as they neared the cruisers. "I've been sitting all day, and I need to stretch."

He turned onto the road, toward site ninety. Jarod felt a twinge of surprise, knowing full well from the day before that Neil was uncomfortable revisiting this part of the park.

"You ever go camping when you were a kid?"

"No, but I coordinated a bivouac for the 101st Airborne once."

Neil smiled, thinking it was a joke. "My dad used to take me and my brother up here when I was real young. We stayed in this very park, in fact. The way this part looks right now is the way it all used to be, rugged and wide open. That was before the city folk decided to pave paradise and put up a parking lot."

"Does your father still come up here?"

"No, he and my mother passed on when I was about nine or so. Car accident."

"And your brother?"

Neil smiled fondly, but it quickly faded. "We were separated after my parents died. I never saw him again."

Their shoes kicked up the gravel as they walked, making a crunching sound beneath sturdy boots. They reached the site at the end of the road. Neil shoved his hands into his pockets and surveyed it carefully.

"Mildred said you were asking about this place this morning."

Jarod folded his arms in front of him. "I'm sorry. I hope you weren't offended."

"No, I wasn't, Greer," Neil answered wearily. "It's just that this place holds my worst nightmare. Warren loved her job, and this is where it all ended."

"It wasn't your fault, sir," Jarod comforted. "There was nothing you could have done."

Neil's vision was seeing a memory. "That's what they tell me, but it doesn't change the fact that she hit the call alone. Maybe I would have been able to save her. Maybe I would have seen the shooter before he got one off."

Jarod wanted to ease Neil's pain, but it seemed so terrible that he was not sure anyone could ever say the words that would make it all just a bad memory.

"When I was working poacher patrols," he said, "the hunters would do whatever it took to blend into the terrain. Sometimes, the only way we could find them was to track their footprints. Stoltz was a hunter. I don't think anyone would have seen him that night."

Neil seemed surprised by Jarod's knowledge of the case file but did not comment. His eyes swept over the site and up the bluff in a darting motion that made Jarod realize it was an alerted gaze.

Case remained calm, but his senses were at full status. "We're being watched," he said quietly. "On the rocks, two o'clock, about forty feet up."

Jarod casually brought his sight up the outcroppings until he saw what Neil saw. It was a man in woodland camouflage, standing very still and observing them. "I see him. What do you want to do?"

"I suppose shooting him from here is out of the question?" Neil joked, though it was more sarcasm than humor.

"I'll circle around and see if I can head him off," Jarod said.

Neil agreed. "And I might as well go see what that fella wants. He seems pretty interested in us. See you on the other side, Greer."

Casually, Case stepped forward and headed in the direction of the man on the bluffs while Jarod worked his way to the side where he had a chance of cutting off the mystery man's escape route. The moment the man detected Neil approaching, he bolted from his observation place.

Neil was like an agile animal as he scaled the ledges of the bluff toward the man's path. Jarod made good time, but he was nowhere near as nimble as Case in climbing. Their suspect had a good fifty feet of running distance ahead of both men by the time they reached the flatter areas of the bluff. Large trees anchored themselves to the boulders brought down by glaciers thousands of years earlier. The man dodged in and out of them, putting even more distance between him and his would-be captors. Neil put up a fight, and he might have even caught up except that he tripped on a tree root, which sent him flailing forward to the ground.

Jarod saw him fall face forward and ran over to check on him.

"Dammit!" Neil yelled. His voice echoed in the forest as he watched his suspect disappear into the heavy woods.

"Captain, are you all right?" Jarod hollered as he approached.

"Yeah, I'm all right, Greer," Case said with disgust, prone and resting his weight on his elbows. "I'm just fine." With that, began to stand.

At the very last moment, Jarod spotted the trap in the thicket where Neil was about to place a foot. "Captain!" he cried and pulled Neil bodily away from the danger.

"What the hell, Greer?" Neil bellowed, pushing Jarod away from him and brushing dirt off the front of his own uniform.

Jarod turned around and picked up a branch, shoving it into the brush. A loud snap made Neil jump. The sound was unmistakable. He had nearly stepped into one of the claw traps. Neil looked at it in disbelief, realizing he had almost stepped on it.

"I - I don't know what to say, Greer. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, sir. I'm just glad one of us saw it in time." Jarod felt shaken at the thought of what could have happened.

Case wiped away the sweat on his forehead. "Looks like Carl's trappers are moving into national land."

"It would look that way," Jarod agreed. "On the bright side, we can prosecute under federal law now if we find them."

"Yeah, you're right, assuming we ever find them. Let's head back to the station so I can change into some clean clothes. We'll have Mildred order some lunch."

Neil turned and left Jarod in his wake. It was clear the park's commanding officer was beyond mad at losing his suspect. More than once on the way back to the cruisers, he kicked a fallen tree in frustration. Jarod kept a certain distance, lest Case mistake his leg for a tree trunk.

He thought about how perceptive Neil was to see the man standing on the bluff, especially one in camouflage. Jarod had nearly missed what had Neil had seen. That only reinforced what he had suspected from Centre DSA records – Neil was one of the children.


	7. Chapter 7

Mind's Eye - Part 7

GEORGETOWN, DELAWARE

Miss Parker struggled to rein in her thoughts as she idled at a stoplight. Just down the road, she could see the steeple of Saint Agatha's Catholic Church. It was nestled amid wood shingled houses built at the height of the industrial era in post-World War II America. Each house was nearly identical except for the occasional rearrangement of windows or porch eaves placed on an opposite side. Only the color of the paint allowed the onlooker to decisively tell each one apart. Large oak trees lined the devil strip, shading the community from the hot summer sun. The area was serene and calm – the kind of place to raise a family in peace.

The light turned green, and she proceeded toward the parking lot of the church. As she pulled in, she could see a large house behind the plain brown stones of the medium gothic-style church. The house was rather large in comparison to the rest of the neighborhood. The second story had its own porch that was screened in to keep the pests of summer at bay. The screening contrasted darkly against the brilliant white of the wood shingles. Windows gleamed in near perfection, no streaks to be found even on the large bays on the first floor.

Parker found a slot near the path leading to the house. A small sign indicated that the house was actually the convent for the parish. She sat in the car for a moment, watching for movement inside the house. A feeling of apprehension flitted through her as it always seemed to do when she was about to take a new turn in her search for Jarod. This time, though, the matter was less about Jarod and more about the secrets of the Centre that might be beneficial to Lyle or Mr. Raines. She felt a personal need to be on the inside track, even if it was surreptitiously, knowing the most important things long before she was officially brought into the information loop. It was the only way to keep men like Lyle and Raines, and even her own father, in check.

She snapped open the briefcase on the passenger seat and withdrew a folder. Opening it, she examined the black and white photograph of the young nun in full habit, her hands laid affectionately on the shoulders of Jeanie and the boy. The school served as the backdrop to the group, looking no different than it did in the present. While the woman's face was bright and happy, the children looked utterly lost and numb. Their eyes were hollow of emotion, and their faces were eerily blank of expression.

Parker carefully placed the picture back in the folder and opened the car door. She headed up the small path to the convent, entered the porch and pushed the doorbell. After a brief wait, the heavy oak door opened.

A thin but distinguished older woman with curled white hair and skin that had loosened with age stood there. Parker was taken aback with the stunned look on the woman's face. Opening the folder, Parker held the photo up for view.

"I'm looking for a nun who may have been assigned here."

The woman did not move, the slight breeze ruffling the casual grey skirt and crisp white cotton shirt she wore. She kept her eyes trained on Parker, looking dumbfounded.

"Hello?" Parker said with agitation.

The woman blinked, giving a slight shake of her head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry. Come in," she said quietly, stepping aside to allow Parker to enter the convent.

The workmanship on the inside of the house was extraordinary. Heavy oak had been used in creating the staircase to the left and the moldings around the ceilings as well as the planks of the floor. There was the faint smell of polishing oil in the air, a sweet lemony scent that seemed to somehow accommodate the incredible weather outside.

The woman took the lead and guided Parker down a long hallway, past the living room, into a study with heavy sliding doors that were closed once the two were inside. A picture window let in the brilliant sunlight. White sheers buffered the strong rays of afternoon, leaving a white glow on the shinier surfaces in the room. Two overstuffed chairs covered in a red fabric faced a heavy oak desk. The woman sat down at the desk and motioned for Parker to one of the chairs.

"I'm Sister Mary LaGrange," she said finally, confirming the accuracy of the nameplate on the desk. "And you are?"

"Parker, from the Centre in Blue Cove," she answered in a tone that was all business. "Do you recognize the woman in the photo?"

"I should hope so," said the woman with a gentle laugh. "That's me thirty years ago."

Miss Parker looked at the photograph more closely, then back to Sister Mary. She had the overwhelming urge to smack herself in the head for not seeing the resemblance right away. "I'm sorry," Parker said coolly, "you seem to have broken the habit."

Sister Mary laughed heartily. Her smile was warm, and there was something oddly familiar about it. "I've never heard it put quite so succinctly, but yes, our order departed with the more formal religious look years ago. We decided that it got too damned hot around here in the summer to be wearing wool. If the good Lord had intended us to melt, he would have made us of ice."

"Sister," Parker said, wanting to be done with the small talk, "the children in the picture with you – do you know who they are?"

"Miss Parker," Sister Mary said obligingly, "I have been at this school both as a teacher and as a nun for over forty years. I have had my picture taken with so many of the children who have passed through here. I'm afraid it's simply impossible to remember them all."

Parker looked at the pained expression on the nun's face and debated whether it was theatrical or genuine. Either the she was as innocent and sweet as she was saying or she was a damned good liar.

"Please take a close look, Sister. It's very important that we locate the children you were with in that picture."

Sister Mary looked concerned. "You sound as though they're in some sort of danger."

Parker was always lousy at telling the truth, even to nuns. There was no reason to break family traditions.

"Our organization was involved in locating their parents. A family was going through our archives and felt these children may have been theirs. We would like to verify that. I'm afraid the parents are quite elderly now, and time is of the essence."

Sister Mary sighed and looked squarely at Parker, never bothering to take a second look at the photograph. "As I said, I don't know who these children are."

"What about class photos? The school must have those on file."

"Fire, ten years ago," the nun answered, almost too quickly, as though it had been rehearsed. "We lost a great deal of parish and school history. We were quite devastated by it." A slight but knowing smile played on her lips, as if to let Parker know loud and clear that the game was afoot.

Parker returned the smile with the same vestige. "I'm sure it was very upsetting."

"Well, I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you, Miss Parker," Sister Mary said all too politely, effectively signaling the conclusion of the question and answer session. The welcome mat had been retracted, torn quickly from under Parker's feet.

Parker let the silence linger a moment, giving Sister Mary one last chance to give some information about the children. When nothing happened, Parker stood and retrieved the photograph from the table.

"Thank you for your time, Sister." She turned to let herself out of the study.

"It's a shame," Sister Mary said unexpectedly.

Parker turned. "Excuse me?"

"It's a shame," Sister Mary repeated. "Some people in situations such as this will probably never be found. Certainly a waste of energy for people like yourself."

Parker's back stiffened at the insinuation. "Occasionally," she said, making sure her teeth were not grinding, "we find what we're looking for with great success."

Sister Mary was an old pro at the game. "Then I should wish you all the best in your search, Miss Parker." The Cheshire grin played once more.

Parker left the study and headed for the parking lot. When she got outside, she took a deep breath of warm summer air, getting a firm grip on her frustration. Sister Mary was no slouch when it came to being questioned. It was curious where she gained such training. It would be the perfect job for Broots once Parker got back to the Centre.

Movement by the rectory wall caught her eye. An old man in a wide brimmed hat was bent over, kneeling in the soft dirt of a garden. She was drawn to him by something she again could not explain. There was an odd familiarity about him, and indeed about the church itself, that she could not place. When she was a few feet from him, he looked up at her and gasped. The brim of his hat was upturned by the wind, revealing an aged man with wide startled eyes.

Parker froze, absurdly preparing for the man to leap at her in his growing tension. His breath was quick and labored, frightened.

She stepped closer to him and forced a smile on her face in an effort to calm him. Before she could introduce herself, the man turned and sat fully on the ground, supporting himself on one arm that was angled behind his back.

"Catherine," he breathed, stunned and shaken.

The smile drained away from Parker's face at the sound of her mother's name. She got down on her haunches, at eye level with the elderly man. His bones looked frail, but his eyes were alert and a haunting pale blue.

"What did you call me?" she asked in disbelief, her own heart beating fast.

"Catherine," he said again with a hint of a sob catching in his throat, "you've come back. I always knew you would." His voice had an aged quality, but it was gentle and honest.

"What's your name?" she asked in a passable whisper.

"Don't you remember me? I'm Randall." He shook his head in a sort of personal revelation. "Of course not. It's been so long. I don't suppose you'd remember me after all this time."

She saw the wide door of information opening both about the Centre and of her mother's past. "Of course I remember you, Randall," she lied kindly. "How could I ever forget you?"

Randall smiled with relief. His eyes were bright with tears. "They said you were dead."

His words shocked her. Clearly, Randall was mistaking her for her mother. For whatever reason, this man knew Catherine Parker personally and felt sentimental toward her return.

"Who told you that, Randall?"

From out of the corner of her eye, Parker saw someone approach quickly. She rose to her feet, ready to defend herself from attack. When she realized it was Sister Mary, she took a step back to avoid being slammed into by the determined woman.

"Come on, Randall," she said gently but with determination, holding out her hands for him. "Sister Elizabeth has lunch ready for you."

Randall looked up at her, shading his eyes from the noon sun. "But Mary, Catherine's back," he tried to explain.

She looked at him with pity. "I know. We'll talk about it after lunch."

She took his hand in hers and pulled him up from the ground. He continued his protest, though.

"But she's come back, Mary."

"I know," she said again. "Sister Elizabeth is waiting."

Randall reluctantly complied with Sister Mary's marching orders and headed for the convent. She watched him until he entered the doors of the house, then turned to Parker.

"You'll have to forgive Randall. He's suffering from the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. He loses sense of time."

Parker could not have cared less about Randall's medical history. "He knew my mother," she said, struggling to maintain control.

Sister Mary looked directly at Parker. "He wasn't the only one," she answered. Her demeanor changed, softening slightly. "Let's go where we can talk."

It was a short walk to the chapel that was attached to the church, a private sanctuary for quiet prayer and reflection. Candles lit the six-pew room that was adorned with stained glass windows.

Sister Mary led Parker to the first pew and sat down with a hint of exhaustion. Parker took a seat next to her and waited patiently for the question and answer session to begin. The nun turned and lay an arm across the back of the pew.

"Well, this is turning into quite a day for you," she said, her voice quiet and even. "I forgot Randall was outside. I should have considered he might see you."

"How fortunate for me that he did," Parker said with disdain. "How did you know about my mother?"

"Those children in the picture were two of at least twelve she rescued from the Centre. At that time, Father Montclaire, who has long since passed, was the pastor here. He and Father Randall agreed to help your mother hide the children and find them new homes. Father Randall enlisted my help in enrolling them in the parish school until we could relocate them."

"Did you know why the Centre was so interested in them?"

Sister Mary sighed. "At first, I didn't think it mattered. I was a teacher then, young and idealistic. In my mind, these children had been taken from their homes, and I was willing to do anything to help them." She paused for a moment in recollection. "I did understand after a while, though. Once we had enrolled them, they began having behavioral problems. Some of the regular students became frightened of the abilities of the children your mother brought us, though I don't think anyone ever suspected their gifts were the supernatural kind."

"Gifts?" Parker asked with sarcasm. "That's an interesting way to describe children who can move objects with a thought. You know the kind I mean – knives, bullets, sharp things. Very talented little killers."

Sister Mary smiled. "I assure you, there was much more to these children than the Centre ever saw. It was too busy cultivating a weapon to see that they were gifted for compassion beyond imagination."

Parker wanted to comment about the influence of religion deeming freaks as gifts in order to fortify the status of the Golden Rule. There seemed to be little point in it, however, since Sister Mary would most likely have dismissed the barb anyway. Parker had to admit the nun had spunk for a penguin. No wonder Catherine Parker trusted this place. Perhaps, too, was the fact that her mother saw the children as gifted and not as genetic mutations to be used by the Centre or the government.

"So you see," Sister Mary continued, "we felt it to be a matter of life and death when we took these children into our care. For you to come here now and tell me you're looking for them only strengthens my resolve to protect them."

"The fire?"

"Confession cleansed my soul."

Parker gave a quaint, condescending smile. "How convenient."

"There are perks to the religious life, Miss Parker. Absolution for righteous acts is one of them. Your mother knew this quite well."

The gears in Parker's head were turning, grinding slowly, analyzing the hints dropped by Sister Mary, one at a time. "If you're so concerned about protecting the children, why tell me all of this when you know I'm searching for them for the Centre?"

"Because there can only be gain in telling you about the past. Father Randall is the only other person here who knows about the children. The rest of the staff from that time have died. The records have been destroyed, and Randall is well on his way to senility."

"And that leaves only you."

"That's right," Sister Mary confirmed, "and not even the Centre could get me to reveal what I know. The only thing you've accomplished today is to find more of your mother's past."

"And my father's?" Parker tested.

"Your father didn't know of your mother's involvement for quite some time. She kept it very secret to rescue as many children as possible. That included keeping it from her husband, your father."

"Because he would have put a stop to it," Miss Parker concluded.

"He or someone else who was so inclined," Sister Mary added. "The moment we learned of her death, we knew it was no accident. Arrangements were made immediately to move the children to a new location. For our safety and theirs, we weren't told where they were being taken. Their history stopped here, and here it will remain."

Parker gave an exasperated sigh. "You have no idea what you're protecting."

"They're human beings, not experiments. Perhaps you should consider raising that trait on their list of qualities."

Parker's jaw tightened, but she said nothing in retort. It was clear that Sister Mary had rose colored glasses on with a crucifix clutched securely in one hand and a shield in the other.

Instead, Parker chose to take the last avenue available to her at the moment. "I suppose Father Randall is off limits?"

Sister Mary shook her head in denial. "As you could see in the garden, he's easily agitated. I won't allow you to upset him. In any case, he'll know nothing of value."

Parker sat there, straining to control the emotions raging inside her. She was willing to bet that Father Randall knew more than the average Swiss cheesed mind. "Well, then," she said with a forced politeness, "it was a complete pleasure talking to you, Sister." She stood and took a deep breath. "Give Father Randall my regards."

Sister Mary eyed her intently and smiled. "Not today."

Something nagged at Parker as she got back into her car. Something Mary LaGrange had said was off, but she could not put her finger on it. Unlike the photograph, all of the pieces were not fitting together in one neat package. Instead, they were only becoming more jumbled. Someone was definitely fibbing, and she was not willing to lay odds as to who was guilty. For all she knew, everyone was lying.


	8. Chapter 8

Mind's Eye - Part 8

Despite Mildred's claim of no fast food places near Prime Hook, she managed to find someone to deliver sandwiches and soft drinks to the station before Jarod and Neil returned. The assortment of sandwiches was incredible, from tuna to and ham to one Jarod found new, intriguing and delicious - corned beef. It was definitely sliced beef, but there was no corn in sight. He made a note to research its history when he got a moment.

A small stream ran behind the station. Neil headed out the door, inviting Jarod to join him at a picnic bench that had been placed along the bank. The water rippled joyously over the rocks, tumbling down into some unseen river miles away. Case sat on the table of the bench, resting his feet on the seat.

"Thanks for the backup today," he said, finishing a bite of his sandwich.

Jarod nodded. "My pleasure," he said.

"I guess it's no secret that ninety is a hard place for me to go," Neil said hesitantly.

"I think it would be hard for anyone, given what happened there."

Neil took another bite, chewing slowly. "She was a good cop, a good friend. She treated people with respect."

"That's not always easy with some of the people you meet on this job."

Neil's reverie returned. "She could talk her way out of any bad situation. It wasn't like she didn't have a temper. I'd seen that plenty of times. Deb was just real good at what she did."

Jarod was silent for a moment, unsure of whether or not he should say the thought that occurred to him. He knew it would sound like an accusation. "You loved her."

If Neil was startled, he did not show it. He looked straight ahead at the water, lost in the roiling rhythm of the cascades. "Some days, more than life itself. We grew up together, had the same interests, loved a lot of the same things. When she met Luke, – that's her husband – she fell for him head over heels. Now me? I was mostly happy about that, and I wanted her to be happy. Luke's a good man, but he hasn't spoken to me since Deb's funeral."

"Does he blame you for what happened?"

"I blame myself. I should have been there. I would have known Stoltz was on the rocks."

Jarod's senses perked at the statement. He knew Neil's secret, but now was not the time to reveal it. "The state investigators don't think anyone could have known."

The words seemed to pass over Neil's head. "It took everything I had not to kill Stoltz once I found him."

"You broke his jaw," Jarod pointed out with a faint amusement he could not deny.

An ironic smile formed. "He's lucky I didn't break anything else. I've never before wanted to take a human life. That night, I had my hands around his neck. All it would have taken was a simple twist, and he would have been dead."

"But you didn't."

Neil gave a grunt. "No, I didn't. I could just hear Deb telling me how wrong it would have been. Her voice was in my head at that moment, so I took him into custody like she would have."

"They awarded you a medal for that."

"Yes, they did," he answered deliberately, his voice trailing off again.

The doors to the ranger station opened in a flurry. Mildred came out in a rush. "Captain, you have an urgent call on line two. It's the state calling," she called to them.

The moment seemed to slow as Neil processed her words. Urgent calls were generally bad in nature, especially to the captain of a park. "I'll be right there, Mildred," he hollered back.

Neil heaved a deep sigh, as though mustering the energy to take whatever was coming down the pike. He and Jarod returned to the station where Neil took the call at his desk.

There were murmurs of conversation, but nothing was said from Neil's side of the call that revealed the nature of the emergency. When he finally hung up, his face looked blanched and a thin sheen of sweat formed on his upper lip. He slumped back in his chair and wiped at his mouth.

Mildred and Jarod stood there expectantly, waiting to hear the news. It was something bad.

"Neil," Mildred said with apprehension, "what's wrong?" She was caring yet resolute.

He looked at them both, scarcely breathing. "Peter Stoltz escaped from the Delaware State Pen this morning."

"Oh my Lord," Mildred breathed, her hand rising to her mouth in shock.

"They're not sure where he's at, but they think he might make it back this way." Neil thought for a moment, regaining his composure and allowing his training to take over and quell his shock.

"Mildred, I want you to call every shift and get them in here for a briefing at five this evening, and I mean everyone. Jarod, I'm going to need you to help me coordinate patrols in the hills. The state police will be handling the roads, but they can't cover the park systems."

Mildred was already moving at Neil's command. "The terrain maps are in the back room, Jarod," she said, heading back to her desk.

As Jarod walked past Neil's desk toward the storage room, he glanced down and saw a picture of Deb Warren and Neil, together in uniform, patrolling along the ocean at Prime Hook. Thinking no one was watching, Neil's hand reached out and touched the frame, touching it with affection and what was undoubtedly fear.

Jarod left Neil alone and proceeded to the maps. He pulled out the series that covered the boundaries of Prime Hook and began studying the layout of the park from a cartographer's perspective. He soon had a better understanding of where everything was, including Old Home Road and how Carl Homer's property related to the refuge. The lines of his property ran adjacent to an area a mile and a half southeast of the bluffs of site ninety. The rest was a plateau of thick forest where Neil's into which Neil's suspect had disappeared earlier in the day.

The patrol route would not be difficult to establish. Unimproved hiking trails would provide some of the passages through the lower portions of the park. The higher elevations, the ones that ran above the bluffs, would require observation by rangers suited to climbing and navigating the dense woods.

It about an hour, Jarod had his game plan. He presented it to Neil just before the five o'clock meeting with the other rangers of the station. There were six others Jarod had not yet met. Neil took the liberty of a mass introduction at the start of the meeting, explaining Jarod's previous assignment and his current task with the terrain maps.

"As you all know by now, Peter Stoltz escaped from the Delaware State Pen this morning. He wounded two guards in the escape. They're both in critical condition. The state police think he's headed up this way to get to the bigger cities where he can get lost, like DC or Baltimore. He'd been talking to other inmates about coming back here as soon as he got the chance. They've asked us to be on the lookout for him, as this is the last place he struck."

Last? Jarod's senses perked again. There was no mention in the state police file that Stoltz had committed any other crimes outside of his shooting Warren in Hook. Where had Neil gotten that information?

Neil continued. "I don't need to tell you the man's capacity to kill. He aims for cops. So, I want everyone to have vests, and with plates if you have them. We'll do radio check-ins every half- hour, and no one goes out alone. I'm hereby authorizing the use of shotguns in the patrol cars."

He sat on the corner of Mildred's desk, as Jarod had. "I don't have to tell you how critical it is we stay alert until Stoltz is back in custody. For the time being, I'm not going to clear the park. Stoltz may not even be in the area. We're not taking any chances, though. We have some reinforcements coming in from Maryland to help us patrol the area and to give us some sleep time. They'll be here in the morning."

One of the young rangers in the back of the group raised his hand. "Neil, just how sure are they he's headed this way?"

"They've already had some sightings of him. It looks like he tracking toward our coast. No one's guaranteeing he'll show up here, but we're sure as hell not going to get caught with our pants down."

The rest of the meeting was logistical, sending each patrol team to their designated areas.

"Jarod," Neil said finally, "you're our resident tracking expert. You're with me. We'll take the bluffs to the south."

"Yes, sir," Jarod responded.

Together, they set out for the area behind site ninety, each man knowing that if Stoltz returned to the area, he'd likely return to the scene of his crime. If he did, they would be there to greet him, to finish what he had started.

The long days of summer were nearing an end, but the sun remained as a dim light in the west as they rode to the southern tip of Prime Hook. While Jarod drove, Neil checked his Taurus nine-millimeter and chambered a round.

Jarod gave a surreptitious glance at Case. Neil's collar was dark with perspiration, a product of nerves and stress.

"You okay?"

Neil holstered the gun. He gave a sharp look at Jarod, one laced with streaks of vengeance. "If he shows, I'm going to be there. And this time," he said with conviction, "we'll play by my rules, not his."


	9. Chapter 9

Mind's Eye - Part 9

Parker made the forty-minute drive back to the Centre in just over thirty. Her foot pressed the accelerator in agitation as she replayed the encounter with Sr. Mary in her mind. Something was seriously wrong with the story, but she had no way of pinpointing was it was that gave her pause.

The sun was fading by the time she pulled into the parking deck. Her pace to the elevator was brisk, trying to burn off pent-up energy she had accumulated. Parker wanted to get back to the lab and begin solving the riddle of information supplied by Mary LaGrange and how Jeanie fit into the big picture of St. Agatha's Church. When the doors opened, she found herself confronted by Broots and Sydney. Broots had a silver DSA case clutched in his hands.

"What?" she asked, eyeing the two men insistently.

"We've found something," Sydney said cautiously. "We need to take a ride."

They stepped forward, forcing Parker back into the deck.

"Where are we going?" she asked them.

Broots cleared his throat. "Anywhere but here would be just fine with me."

Sydney led them back to Parker's car. She let them in, sliding into the driver's seat and turning over the engine. Not a word was spoken until they had safely left the confines of Centre property.

"Do you have any particular destination in mind?" she asked once they were finally on the highway.

"You may want to head back to St. Agatha's," Sydney said.

"Why?"

"Broots found something in the DSAs. Pull over at the next rest area and we'll show you."

She did as he asked, finding a rest area three miles down the road. She threw the car into park and waited with impatience. "Well? Let's hear it, boys."

Broots fidgeted relentlessly in the back seat, hugging the DSA case as though it were a precious child.

"Follow me," Sydney said. He got out of the car and proceeded to the picnic area, followed by Parker and Broots. The rest area was practically deserted. Only one other car was in the lot, and it looked like its passengers were ready to hit the road once more.

"Show her, Broots."

Broots set the DSA on the table and opened it. The terminal lit up as he tapped commands into the keyboard. "I did what you told me and started digging through the Centre records on Black Arrow."

"And?"

"And I found some really weird things. Then came the spooky stuff. Then I don't want even describe how it all ended."

She turned to Sydney. "Translation?"

"Show her the videos, Broots," Sydney told the younger man.

The DSA of David and Jeanie in the playroom came on the screen. "I've already seen this before, Broots."

"Yeah, but you didn't see this," he countered. "Look at the reflections in the mirror glass."

She watched it, seeing Raines, the camera unit and several people. "So what am I seeing besides bad fashion sense on Raines?"

Broots touched the terminal and began isolating and zooming in on the faces in the mirror. There was one in the far corner of the room that was some distance away, but Broots brought it in close and clear. The woman's face was a mirror itself, that of Parker's. Catherine Parker had been watching David and Jeanie with Raines.

A sharp chill swept through Parker as it dawned on her what was wrong with Sister Mary's story. "That's my mother," she breathed. "That's impossible."

"That's what I said," Broots continued. "Catherine Parker died April 13, 1970, but this video is dated April 9, 1971, almost a year after her death."

Parker felt dumbfounded. "Tell me there's an explanation for this," she demanded, although it was really more of a plea.

"Well, like I said, there were three levels to all this. That was the weird part. Now for the spooky. All of the records for Black Arrow had the date and time stamp changed to 1971. At least everything I could recover officially, anyway."

"And unofficially?"

Broots began recalling files on the terminal. "I managed to find some residual imprints of old files on the network. See, even if someone went in and erased them, they're not really gone until new information overwrites that area of the storage unit. Not too long after the files were erased, the Centre changed to a different storage system, so a lot of it would never have been overwritten. Raines or whoever was erasing the files probably never even knew to go back and check to make sure the original Black Arrow was really gone."

The explanation was quick, but she understood what it meant. Files Raines thought were gone were still hanging around, and Broots had found them. "So, if we're seeing my mother's reflection, when did the project begin?"

Broots pointed to the date stamp in the corner of the screen. "The original files show a date of 1968," he supplied.

Parker shot a curious look at Sydney. "Why would he go through all that trouble to change the date?"

Sydney had a grim look upon his face. "We seemed to have found that answer as well. Apparently, Raines was not authorized by the Triumvirate to be conducting Black Arrow. He had applied for approval and was summarily denied by the council because of the intent of the project. They had no stomach for training children as killers."

"And he went ahead and did it. No wonder my mother was there. She had to have known Raines was doing it without permission." She looked back at Broots. "So what's the rest?"

Broots looked ill, like he always did when he discovered something horrible. A sinking feeling welled in the pit of her stomach as she waited for him to load up the last video segment. When the playback began, he walked away from them.

For Centre Use Only

_Surveillance – David – Doctor Raines._

Seated on a stool in the middle of an otherwise barren black room is an older boy with dark hair, straight and shiny. He is dressed in a white cotton shirt and black pants. A spotlight in the ceiling focuses on his location, and it is clear he is scared. His eyes are wide with fear of the man circling like a shark.

_Doctor Raines passes behind the boy, laying a hand on the child's shoulder. The boy flinches at the contact but does not pull away from Raines. He knows better than to do that._

_Bravely, the boy tightens his fist and says, "I know what you do here."_

_Raines seems pleased, almost as if anticipating the moment. "And what is that, David?"_

"_You hurt people," David says, controlling his fear. "You hurt them and make them do things they don't want to do so you can hurt other people."_

_Raines lowers his hand from David's shoulders and circles to the side of him. "And what would you say if I told you I was about to hurt you?"_

"_I'd say 'go ahead'. You're going to anyway, aren't you?"_

_Raines tries to smile, but it turns into more of a sneer. He seems intimidated by David's courage, unnerved that the boy is putting up a fight._

"_There are others like you, David. There are others right here in this place who are depending on you to do the right thing."_

_David looks down at the floor. He refuses to look at Raines, no matter how close the man gets. He breathing is heavy from his agitation and fear. Most striking of all is the flush of anger in his face. He is struggling to maintain his control, but Raines keeps pushing._

"_It would be a shame to see any of the other children hurt because you won't help us."_

_Raines looks up and nods to a location off-camera, motioning with finger for the next phase to begin. The angle of the surveillance changes. A door opens, and the muffled sound of a small girl can be heard. She is crying, terrified of the large hands controlling her. Her hair is braided, and her dress is torn near the side._

_The view reverts to David. His alarm is clear. He knows the girl, mouths her name, careful not to voice it._

_Raines passes behind him and places two hands on his shoulders. He bends down to speak quietly into David's ear. "All you have to do is show us your abilities, David. If you do, I promise you that nothing will happen to Sarah. She'll go back to the playroom and be protected. If you don't, we'll begin studying her, and that will include some very distasteful procedures."_

_David's rapid breathing can be heard. His eyes are glued to Sarah's distress, to her struggle against the man holding her hostage. "Let her go!"_

"_Not until you work with us, David."_

"_Let her go!" David shouts again. He moves as if to leap off the chair, but Raines' strong hands hold him in place. He is pushed back down on the stool as the grip on his shoulders tighten._

"_This is your last chance, David," Raines says, the timbre of his voice becoming something short of maniacal as it sounds into David's right ear. "If you don't cooperate, Sarah will be taken from this room, and the last thing you'll hear is her screaming when we begin our study. The choice is yours."_

"_Leave her alone!" David screams. He is nearing a frenzy of anxiety and anger._

"_You know what you must do, David!" Raines says as he realizes David's anger is becoming proportional to the energy of the moment. By then, it is too late._

"_I said leave her alone!"_

_Before the cameras can catch up to the flight path of his body, Raines is sent sailing backwards at least fifteen feet. He slides across the polished floor as his suit coat provides the skid for such travel. David picks up the stool he had been sitting on and hurls it with his mind toward the man holding Sarah. The speed at which it travels, however, is startling. It nothing more than a blur as it finds its target._

_The guard is thrown backward, forced to release his hold on Sarah. As he does so, he also releases his hold on life. His skull is shattered into a hundred pieces by the cold metal stool. A distinctive crunching sound is heard as it impacts with his head._

_Sarah slumps to the floor, terrified at the sudden explosion of violence. David goes toward her to pick her up, but more guards enter the room. He reaches instead for the stool again, prepared to launch it at the next person who stands in the way of their escape. They see their dead co-worker on the floor and deduce the significance of the boy's threat._

"_Stop him!" Raines yells._

_David seethes with anger. He turns toward Raines, ready to hurl the stool at the man responsible for suffering the children of the study have endured. He brings the stool up over his head, preparing to throw it and kill Raines._

"_Stop him!" Raines screams, his hand held out defensively in front of him as he lay on the floor._

_It is difficult to count how many gunshots are issued, for there is a hail of bullets that pierce the body of the young boy who will never again know freedom. David's body jumps and rebels against the onslaught of projectiles piercing his skin. His white shirt begins to darken in small circles where blood escapes his body. He is sent sprawling on the floor, his body still except for a slight twitching in his left hand._

_Raines gets to his feet and nears the body on the floor. He reaches down to check for a pulse, apparently finding none or at least not admitting to one. He straightens and looks at the guards in the room._

_He focuses on Sarah, who has pressed herself into a corner of the room. She is beyond terrified or angry. She is in shock. Even in the black and white video, it is clear the blood has left her face. She is shivering violently, unable to take a proper breath._

_Raines walks to her, and stoops down as if to offer an ice cream cone. "Let's go back to the playroom now, Sarah. We'll find you a nice toy."_

_He holds out his hand for Sarah. She reluctantly takes it, her eyes glassy and horrified at the sight of David's dead body on the floor in front of her. Together, she and Raines head for the door._

_As it opens to admit them to the hallway, there is a younger boy there. When he sees David's condition, he turns frantic, trying to get into the room. He is screaming David's name as another man bolsters him down the hallway and off camera._

_Raines holds tightly to Sarah's hand. As he leaves the room, Raines eyes one of the guards sharply. "Clean this up," he rumbles._

_End of record._

Parker was scarcely breathing as she finished watching. The boy had been brutally killed by the Centre, all in a final effort to protect a little girl.

"Parker?" Sydney said.

A rage began to slowly build inside her. This was not the first atrocity she had witnessed with Raines, and it would probably not be the last. Nevertheless, he would some day pay for the things he had done. Some time, some way, he would know his own wrath and hatred and abominable behavior.

She focused on the task once more. It was critical she keep within the scope and the discipline of her training. If there had been any value to Jarod's games, it had been his insistence she look for the things in the background instead of what was in front of her eyes.

"Who's the boy in hallway?" she asked.

"We don't know yet. Broots is still looking for him."

"The file said there were twelve children. Where are the others?"

Sydney motioned that it was okay for Broots to return to the terminal. The horror was over for the moment. Broots began pulling up profile information on the children. The computer scrolled their faces and information on the screen, one by one.

"We're running the same search we started on Jeanie," Broots said. "So far, we've matched eight to the aging composites we did earlier. There aren't that many of them left. Three died of cancer, one in a car accident, and one committed suicide. One was murdered, and one was in prison, at least as of this morning."

"This morning?"

"Peter Stoltz," Sydney said. "He was found guilty last month in the shooting of a park ranger at Prime Hook National Wildlife Preserve. He was the first match we made when we compared the face to the NCIC. According to Black Arrow, he was the second choice next to David for a test subject."

The National Crime Information Computer, or NCIC for short, was a flourishing database of felons convicted of crimes across the nation. It was an invaluable tool for law enforcement agencies in creating a network of information. The Centre frequently used it to recruit operatives for its less than glamorous details.

Still, Parker knew there were other factors that had not come to light yet. "None of this makes sense. Why would Raines order Lyle to find these children if they're a threat? Why not just leave well enough alone?"

Broots cleared his throat. "Well, what if Mr. Raines wasn't the one who ordered Lyle to find the kids? I mean, what if Lyle is looking to frame him so the Triumvirate will do something to get Raines out of the Centre?"

Sydney nodded. "A power play would make sense."

"No," she disagreed, "if the Triumvirate knew where they were, they'd just send a sweeper team to take care of them so there'd be no risk of disclosure of the project. There's something more to this. My guess is that Raines really did order Lyle to find the children. To what end, I don't know."

She turned to Broots. "I want you to keep digging. Get back to the lab and find out what Raines is up to. Call me the minute you have something."

Sydney moved slightly to keep her from walking away in haste. "Where are you going?"

She looked him directly in the eyes. "To church."


	10. Chapter 10

Mind's Eye - Part 10

Parker took off her sunglasses as the day began to end. To her right, the sky was on fire with a brilliant gradient of colors that went from yellow to blue to black. Night was falling, but her senses were clear as midday. Sister Mary knew more, and Parker was determined to find out just how much more there was to the story of her mother and Black Arrow.

Georgetown, Delaware was settling in for the night. Lights blinked on as darkness fell. The stained glass windows of Saint Agatha's were lit up, displaying their brilliant blue and green mosaics depicting saints and miracles. There were cars in the parking lot when Parker pulled in, indicating a function within the church.

She got out of the car and headed for the convent. Lights bathed the lawn in front of the bay windows in a warm glow. Light dew was forming on the grass that weather forecasters had said would turn to the season's first frost by morning. The air felt chilled already as she approached the steps of the house. Before she got to the porch, the door opened. Sister Mary stood there like a sentry standing guard against attack.

"Have you come back for round two, Miss Parker?" she asked, the subtle smile playing on her lips. "I thought I made it clear this afternoon that we had nothing more to discuss?"

Parker rose up the step to the porch door and stood squarely in front of the nun. She decided to dial down her ire a notch and try the nice, diplomatic approach. She wanted to know more about her mother.

"Sister, we need to talk," she said, trying to convince her mind she was forcing her sincerity.

"I don't believe there's anything more to say."

"I think the children my mother asked you to take care of are in danger."

Sister Mary crossed her arms against the night chill. "Strange. You didn't seem to think that the case this afternoon when I asked."

"I know," Parker admitted, cringing at the fact. "Please, let me in, and I'll tell you what I know. You can decide for yourself."

Sister Mary drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She opened the screen door with her forearm and stepped aside to allow Parker entrance. She then closed the heavy white oak door behind them with a quiet bump.

Instead of going into Sister Mary's office as they had earlier in the day, Parker was led to the living room that was large and airy. Large overstuffed chairs sat semicircle in front of a fireplace that was lit. The air was fragrant with the smell of burning wood as it crackled in the hearth. Parker sat down, surprised the nun did not follow suit in the other chair.

"You look like you could use a drink," Sister Mary said with a tenderness that seemed alien to Parker.

"After what I saw this afternoon, maybe two or three," she admitted.

Sister Mary went to a foldout bureau near the terrace window and poured two scotches, adding ice cubes at a minimum. She returned to Parker and offered one. When she sat down, her manner seemed fatigued.

"It's quite a disturbing image to see young David being killed by Centre thugs, isn't it?"

Parker was astonished. "How did you know?"

"History repeats itself, Miss Parker. That exact video is what brought your mother here all those years ago, asking for help to hide the children from the Centre." She took a sip of her drink. "I was very much like you at your age. My skepticism was my own worst enemy. I opposed the children coming here when Father Montclaire asked me to help. I was not willing to risk the other students being in danger of forces beyond my own control."

"My mother knew David had been killed and brought the children here?"

"No," Sister Mary said shaking her head. "Actually, she brought the video first. Father Montclaire had informed her of my resistance. Catherine decided to meet me head-on and show me the truth. She knew that Doctor Raines was evil, that he had stepped outside the realm of human instinct."

Sister Mary adjusted her position in the chair. "Miss Parker, do you know what a devil's advocate is?"

"Religiously or metaphorically speaking?"

"Religiously."

"I'm not sure of the specifics, but it had to do with verification of saints."

"That's right. In the early days of the Catholic Church, when candidates for sainthood were nominated, the Vatican established the position of Devil's Advocate to debunk them. This was to ensure the candidate was truly worthy of recognition. Sometimes, the advocate would even discover traces of evil acts that were so contrary to the idea of sainthood. They looked for the dark side of a person who was proclaimed to be good. It was not the most popular position in Rome. The advocate was and still is known only to a few."

"I'm not sure I follow."

Sister Mary smiled fondly. "Your mother reminded me of a devil's advocate. She was willing to risk her life to bring about the truth of the Centre. She was willing to die to protect those children and so many others like them. She spoke the truth and took action against the Centre when it appeared to be a saintly organization."

Images of her mother flashed in Parker's mind. Her heart ached for the truth of her death, something she felt she might never learn.

"Sister, if you knew my mother, then you know she would have wanted the children to stay safe. I need your help if I am going to do that."

"Let me ask you this, Miss Parker. What guarantee do I have that you aren't lying and are trying to find the children so they can be hunted and killed by the sweeper teams?"

Parker immediately noted the nun's use of "sweeper teams".

"You seem to know a lot about Centre tactics."

"Your mother's greatest fear aside from the safety of the children was for those who helped her. She warned us what might come our way. The sweeper teams were in place then, as I'm sure they are now."

Parker finally brought her glass up and took a sip of the scotch. She felt like she was taking one step forward and two steps backward with every bit of their conversation.

"Look, Sister, I can't give you any guarantees. All I know is that the danger they're in right now is something my mother would fight if she were alive."

Sister Mary rested her glass on the arm of her chair. Her finger traced the contour of the glass in an idle, contemplative way. "Which seems to be the crux of the issue, doesn't it? You see, I have no doubt your mother would fight to protect them. She was willing to die for them; but what about you, Miss Parker? What are you willing to risk to protect them?"

Thoughts of Raines and images of Thomas dead on the porch flashed in Parker's mind. She had risked the one true love in her life and had lost. The images of her mother's body as it lay still in the elevator car haunted her nearly every day of her life, hours spent in the same halls Catherine had walked all those years. Now, Parker was walking them, lost and without purpose. The revelations coming to her slowly but surely as time passed were painful and maddening. Her own father would not reveal the truth to her, and she wanted desperately to trust him as she had when she was a child. She found no solace in his cloak and dagger tactics he claimed were for her own protection. The contradictions she felt were painful.

Still, despite the swirl of emotions raging inside her, Parker was not ready to tip her hand to Sister Mary. "That would depend on how much danger there is. You seem to have a better handle on that than I do.'

"If that's true, then I'd say you're sorely out of the loop at the Centre."

Parker's jaw clenched in frustration, but she maintained her demeanor. "Let's just say the truth is not at the top of the list when it comes to certain people there. What I do know for sure is someone wants to find these children for a reason, and it's not to send Christmas cards."

The floor creaked as someone stood in the doorway to the living room. They both turned to see Father Randall standing, a large book in his hand.

"Randall?" Sister Mary said, getting to her feet.

Father Randall walked forward to them and met Sister Mary. "You have to tell her, Mary. We can't protect them anymore. We're getting too old to fight."

"Randall, please," Sister Mary urged, "this is not the time or – "

"This is the right time and the right place," Father Randall said emphatically. He seemed remarkably more lucid than he had been in the afternoon. Alzheimer's disease in the early stages was cruel that way.

"The Centre has terrorized those people far too long," he said. "They need peace. This woman may be the only one who can bring them that."

Sister Mary looked desperately at Father Randall. She turned to Parker in defeat of the priest's argument. "I hope you're right, Randall. If you aren't, we've killed them already."

Parker was stunned at Father Randall's sudden return to lucidity. He had seemed so lost in time when she first met him. She felt eager that he was willing to give information. Sister Mary had been a successful roadblock, doing everything in her power to drag Parker along in the investigation.

"Father, I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to protect them."

Father Randall gave a cursory glance to Sister Mary at Parker's knowledge of the fates of some of the children. He held out the leather bound book to Parker. She took it in both hands, unsure if she should open it.

"This will explain all that we know about the children. As you said, most have passed on; but some remain hidden." Sister Mary pulled over a chair for Father Randall. She said, "I'll have to assume the Centre doesn't know where they are if you're looking for them?"

Parker's loyalties to the Centre felt challenged by the question. "If they did, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Father Randall cleared his throat with an extended cough that threatened to develop into a spasm. When he had settled, he tapped on the book. "Open it."

She opened the book and began flipping through the first few pages. They were filled with various pictures of children Parker assumed were from Black Arrow. Each photograph was the same, similar to the one Jarod had sent. Not one child ever smiled, looking wholly scared to death of something not seen.

The fifth page revealed an article on David Stoltz. His picture was the centerpiece to a story detailing his killing of a park ranger in Prime Hook National Wildlife Preserve. His eyes revealed darkness so deep there seemed to be no end to the chasm into his mind.

Parker noticed Father Randall close his eyes. His chin quivered as tried to control his pain.

"You knew Peter Stoltz?" Parker asked.

He shook his head and composed himself. "No, he was one of two children your mother could not rescue from the Centre."

The equation began forming for Parker. "He and David?"

Sister Mary folded her hands in front of her. "Your mother told us of Peter, asking if we could take on one more child. Of course, we accepted and were waiting for him. You have to remember that these children arrived two at a time, at the most. Usually, they were alone because of the difficulty of smuggling them out of the Centre."

"She couldn't get Peter out," Parker said.

"No," the nun confirmed. "Peter was under lock and key with Doctor Raines. Catherine simply had no access to the boy."

Parker's eyes skimmed the details of Stoltz in the newspaper article. An assassin, whose weapon was never found, he was responsible for the shooting death of Ranger Deborah Warren five months earlier. The jury found him guilty and sentenced him to life in prison. Again, a piece fell into place for Parker.

"Raines picked where he left off with Peter," Parker continued.

"We're not entirely certain of the details," Sister Mary said, "but that's a likely conclusion."

Again, Parker took notice of how upset Father Randall had become once Stoltz had been mentioned. She wanted the answers and knew Sister Mary would not willingly provide them.

"Father, there's more to this than just Stoltz being a killer," Parker said to Father Randall.

She looked down at the article. Her senses felt overwhelmed as she finally realized she was getting somewhere in the quest for the truth. "You knew the woman he killed, didn't you?" she accused.

A quiet sob escaped Father Randall. Tears fell freely from his eyes, rolling down his aged cheeks without resistance. He sniffed, trying once again to bring his emotions under control. Still, he could not speak. He answered Parker with only a nod.

Parker looked at Sister Mary. "Who was she?"

Sister Mary reached for the photo album and turned back a few pages until she came to the photo of her and the two children, the one Jarod had sent. Parker nearly dreaded the answer she knew was about to be spoken by the woman. It was all beginning to fall into place, piece by piece, moment by moment. The explanations were coming so quickly that Parker had to run to keep up with the two elderly religious.

"That's Jeanie Danziger, " Sister Mary said, pointing to the girl in the picture. "She was one of two of the first children your mother rescued."

"The boy was the other?"

"Yes, Nelson Cassidy. Jeanie and he became very close friends. They were practically inseparable."

The young child looked so familiar. Colorless images raced through her mind, snippets of the DSA records replaying at a furious pace. Then she hit on it. "He was in the hallway when David was killed," she said, tapping his form on the photograph.

Sister Mary's eyes closed in regret. "David," she said, "was Nelson's older brother."

Parker's blood felt chilled as her heart pumped it through her veins. No one could ever claim the Centre was a dull place, but the depth of its vulgar treatment of human life sometimes defied nature.

"How does the Jeanie fit in to all of this?"

Father Randall wiped at his face, drying away tears that spilled freely. His eyes reddened, he said, "She never lost contact with us. She was such a smart girl."

He took his turn to flip the album pages in Parker's hands. In the back was a small bundle of letters held by a rubber band. "A few months after she got settled in to her new home, she found the address to the church and sent us letters. Over the years, she let us know she was all right. Somehow, Jeanie knew it was important we have hope that some of the children were still alive. Later on, she fell in love. By then, her name had changed to Deborah."

"And Nelson?"

Sister Mary picked up her glass and took another sip of scotch. "Oh, he's very much alive and well. He captured Peter Stoltz after he shot Jeanie."

Parker gave a casual rub at her forehead, trying to organize the facts into something of value. "Wait a minute. Nelson Cassidy worked with Jeanie?"

"Yes," she confirmed, "they worked in the park system not too far from here."

Parker's hands flew back to the article in the scrapbook. She turned up the first sheaf of paper to reveal the continuation of the story. Deb Warren's – Jeanie Danziger's – face was clear as day. Broots had nailed the aging in the lab perfectly. The hair was close, but the face was on the money.

Parker took a moment to find her voice again. "Did he change his name, too?"

Father Randall shook his head. "He did, but she still called him Nelson because that was his given name. She never wanted him to forget who he was."

The need to find Nelson Cassidy was urgent for Parker. The shooting of Jeanie Danziger was not just a psychotic episode of a hunter gone bad. It was an assassination, a hit ordered by Raines, she believed. Peter Stoltz had carried out the task he was trained to perform. How he had located her was becoming irrelevant. The finger of blame kept pointing back at Raines, although she could not say for sure why. With Stoltz on the loose, it was anyone's guess what the next step of his mission was.

"We have to find Nelson and any of the other children," she told them sharply. Sister Mary began to object, but Parker cut her off with a raised hand. "Stoltz escaped this morning from prison."

"What?" Sister Mary exclaimed. "What do you mean 'escaped'?"

"There's a manhunt on for him right now."

"Oh dear God, no," Father Randall breathed, his tears renewed. He bent forward and clutched his face in his hands.

Parker's cell rang loudly in the pocket of her blazer. All three jumped, startled at the sudden sound. She snatched it up quickly and answered it. "What?"

Broots was stammering on the other end of the line. "M-Miss Parker, you told me to call you when I had something."

"And?"

"Well, I finished running that age comparison on Jeanie and the little boy in the picture. You're not going to believe what I found."

"I've had all kinds of surprises today. Try me."

"Okay, well, remember Stoltz was locked up for killing a ranger on the coast?"

"I'm already ahead of you, Broots. Jeanie is the ranger that was killed. Tell me something I don't already know."

Sydney joined in on the conference call. "Parker, we've been continuing our search through the archive to find out what Raines was up to with the children. Broots has managed to recover more information from the old storage units."

"And what's Doctor Plaid been up to in the archives?"

"It seems Stoltz was programmed to carry out his mission in a sequence of assassinations."

Her impatience reached a peak. "Cut to the details. Who, where and when?"

She took a look at the two elderly people around her. They were listening intently. She wanted desperately to go to another room and take the call there, but it was pointless. They had a vested interest in Peter Stoltz's plans as much as she did.

"You want my professional opinion or for Broots to do the math?" Sydney said with a hint of irritation.

"Just give me a direction. Who was next on the list?" she asked irritably.

Broots spoke up once more. "From the best I can tell from the reconstruction, Raines programmed Stoltz to operate in the order the kids were taken from the Centre, like some sick, twisted vendetta for them escaping."

"Starting with the girl," Parker stated.

"Right," Broots said enthusiastically, "that's where we made some progress on the aging composites. The boy in the photo with her is Nelson Cassidy, a.k.a. Neil Case. He's a ranger in the same park where she worked when she was killed."

"Keep going," she urged, annoyed that she was hearing facts she already knew, except now she had a name to go on to find Cassidy. It was one less thing she would have to drag out of Sister Mary or Father Randall. "Where is he now?"

Broots seemed dumbfounded by the question, as though the answer were so obvious. "Well, he never left. At least that's what the government says. He's the commanding officer of Prime Hook National Wildlife Refuge."

The information was good enough for Parker. She snapped the phone shut, ending the call. Stoltz was headed to finish off the next child on the list, Nelson Cassidy. She would be there to head him off at the pass, to kill him if necessary. He was more valuable alive. She could present him to the Triumvirate, to show them that they had been duped.

She looked at the man and woman seated on either side. Their eyes looked childlike with fear and anticipation. She felt a pang of empathy, perhaps even sympathy, for their cause. Time after time, she learned more about the woman her mother was. Her bravery and her ultimate sacrifice of life for her beliefs were things Parker was now only beginning to understand. Her mother had once found trust and comfort with the staff of Saint Agatha's, confident they would not betray her or the children she fought to protect.

"I have to go," she told them, standing.

Sister Mary reached for Parker's arm to stop her. Her desperation finally surfaced, a deep contrast to the woman who had rebuffed her just hours earlier. "I'm begging you, Miss Parker, don't tell the Centre where they are. We've worked all our lives to protect them. Your mother died protecting the children who were taken. Please."

Parker's eyes closed, and her head dropped backward in despair. She had a duty to uphold with the Centre. The moral argument raging in her head, however, was an equal match. The repercussions of lying to the Centre had proven deadly in the past. The battle was firing volleys from side to side in her mind when her mother's face quieted the conflict. There was strength in the image, fortitude to the right thing in her mother's eyes that Parker found nowhere else within the Centre. Nowhere except in Jarod's eyes in the rare times they had come face to face since his escape.

Her eyes opened, focusing on Sister Mary LaGrange, the cynic who had come to the rescue of children she did not know so many years before Parker had even known about them. She did not see the stoic woman who had confronted her that afternoon. Instead, she saw someone powerless to fight the machine bearing down upon Saint Agatha's Church.

She looked at them both solemnly. "It'll be handled," she said simply.

She turned to leave when Sister Mary stopped her once more. "Wait, there's something I want you to have."

Parker was reluctant to stay any longer at the convent than was necessary. There was something about the nun's appeal that made her stay. Sister Mary walked out of the room and returned just a few moments later. Parker guessed she had gone to her office one room down the hall.

Sister Mary walked back into the living room, holding a silver picture frame in her hand. She held it out to Parker in offering. "I believe your mother would have wanted you to have this."

Framed within the palm-sized metal was a photograph of Catherine Parker, posing with a priest Parker did not know. The emotions that surged through her were painful, yet sweet and refreshing. It was a new image of her mother, one that was not in the things Parker had salvaged of her mother's past. She felt overwhelmed with the gift, even if it may have been a bribe. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Her days of grieving had to come to an end at some point. Even though she was fighting so fiercely to make that happen, she admitted she was failing miserably at preventing the tide of pain she still felt.

Her thumb passed over her mother's face, longing to feel the contours of Catherine's beauty and the warmth of her embrace. Parker's eyes closed again as she felt the renewed agony of memory sweep over her once more. In the distance, she swore she heard the whisper of her mother's voice, telling her the right thing to do.

"Oh, mama," she said to herself, the words echoing in the recesses of her memory.

She looked at Sister Mary and Father Randall once more, this time with conviction and absolute honesty. There was no double-speak, no hidden agenda to the sentiment. There was no risk of these two people betraying the memories Parker held dear of her mother.

A feeling of promise welled within her, a sense that not all of the world had gone to moral hell.

"It'll be handled," she said again.


	11. Chapter 11

Mind's Eye - Part 11

The last light of sunset ebbed over the woods. Earth's star was nothing more than a glow on the western horizon. Neil listened as the forest began to quiet. Birds were chanting their final songs of the day as the night creatures began to stir.

He stopped and slipped out of his backpack, setting it on the ground. He unzipped the top flap and withdrew a snub nose .32, handing it to Jarod. "Here, take this," he said.

"Six shot snub nose?" Jarod asked with a little confusion. "Not exactly the standard equipment for the Ranger service."

"It's not. That's a Captain Case personal backup issue. I got it cheap at a surplus supplier place in Georgetown. I don't want either of us getting caught short-handed." Neil looked up into the darkening sky. "The moonrise should be bright enough for us to see without lights tonight."

Jarod looked up, as well, seeing the first stars appearing far away from the waning light of the sunset. What was it Sydney had once told him about the first stars of night? It was a poem, he remembered. He made a note to find it once his work with Neil Case was done and everyone was safe. "It's going to get cold tonight," he said.

"Yeah, skies are crystal clear. We're in for a snap." Neil hauled his pack off the ground and ran his arms through the straps. He took the radio off the strap of the backpack and keyed it. "Unit One to base, we're beginning our route." Mildred announced a response. He turned to Jarod. "Come on, Greer. Let's get a move on."

Jarod had plotted a patrol route for them based on the way he would attempt to enter the park if he were Stoltz. The assassin would avoid main roads if possible, making use of the hiking paths cut through the woods for tourists. The state police had given them a general path of movement for Stoltz, giving regular updates on sightings. A few hours had gone by since anyone had seen the man. If he had gotten hold of a vehicle, there was no telling how far he had gotten.

The temperature was turning brisk as the moon began to rise high into the night sky. Jarod's breath steamed in the cool air. Case seemed unaffected by the chill, almost reveling in the change. "You like this weather?"

"Oh yeah," Case said with a smile. "Reminds me of when I was a little boy. It's one of the few memories I have of my father and brother. We'd always come here when it started to turn cold. The park would be empty, and we'd have practically the whole place to ourselves."

"That must have been quite a time for you."

"It was. Some days, I'd give anything to have it back. Just me, my brother and my dad." Neil swallowed hard. "Life is never in our control, I guess."

"Especially when you're a child and someone takes it away from you."

Case stopped dead in his tracks and looked at Jarod. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Jarod saw the tense look on Neil's face. If Stoltz was going according to plan, now was the time to let Neil in on the secret. "It means I know what that's like, to feel helpless and afraid."

Case's hand rolled into a fist, like he was preparing to strike. "You don't know a damned thing, Greer," he growled.

Jarod was undaunted. "I know the Centre stole my life, just like it stole yours."

There was a moment that seemed infinite as Case registered what Jarod had said. Once the process was complete, his hand went for the Taurus in his holster. He raised it in steady hands and pointed it at Jarod, finger on the trigger. He tried in vain to control his breathing, which was labored and stressed. "I'm going to ask you one more time – who the hell are you?"

Trying to remain as neutral as possible, Jarod forced his body to relax. "My first name is Jarod. I don't know what my last name is. The Centre took me when I was very young. I finally escaped a little over two years ago. Since then, I've been trying to undo the damage I did there."

"Screw that!" Case shouted. "I was there. I never saw you."

"And I never saw you. Raines made sure of that by keeping his projects separated."

"I don't believe you!"

Jarod took a small step toward Neil. He was rewarded with a warning to keep his distance. "Neil – or should I call you 'Nelson' and maybe call Deb Warren 'Jeanie Danziger'?"

Case struggled to maintain his control. His finger flexed on the trigger of the Taurus. "Where did you hear those names?" he demanded.

"The DSAs that recorded your time there. I know what Raines did to the children in Black Arrow." Jarod could see he was making little progress in convincing Neil of his sincerity. "Look, if I was here to kill you, I would have done it already. I'm here to help you, Neil. You know Stoltz is on his way here to finish what he started. We can end it your terms, like you want. I'll help you do that. You can take back some of what the Centre and Raines took from you all those years ago."

The gun lowered just a bit, but Case kept it leveled and ready to fire at Jarod. "No matter what I do, I'll never get back what was taken. My family is gone."

"What about your brother? He'd want you to go on, to find your life again."

"David is six feet under in some classified graveyard where the Centre puts all its dirty laundry. He's dead, and nothing will change that."

"I know you miss him very much, Neil. I know he cared for the children who had been taken. I saw how he was with Jeanie."

Neil's face lost its hard features. "He made us promise to never give in to them." The gun lowered another fraction. "He knew what Raines was doing, and he died for that. I'll never forget what that bastard did to my brother in the lab."

Neil lowered the gun entirely and slumped back on a fallen tree. The Taurus hung limply in his hand and came to rest at his side. He composed himself after a moment and holstered the weapon. Without a word, he took off his backpack tossed it to the ground.

"Neil," Jarod said, approaching with caution, "you know Stoltz is running on a program, and you're next."

The pale moonlight gave Neil an ashen look. His voice was nearly a whisper. "I know."

"You could run, but he's only going to keep at it until he finds you. The Centre taught him how to evade capture."

"Yeah, but they didn't teach him how to walk and chew bubble gum at the same time."

Jarod was perplexed. "What do you mean?"

Neil picked at the moss on the tree. "Peter was not as adept at moving things as David was. My brother could do the most amazing things with his mind. He was everything Raines was looking for in a test subject, except my dad had taught him how to be strong and to fight for what he believed in. Maybe that's what got him killed."

"Raines killed him, Neil," Jarod countered. "He would have killed all of you if you hadn't gotten out of there."

"Yeah, well," Neil sighed, "fat lot of good that turned out to be unless someone gets their hands on Stoltz and locks him down for good." His eyes closed in the silence of the woods.

Jarod heard the sound just a fraction of a second before Neil was hurled off the log backward by a bullet. Neil gave a muffled grunt as the shot hit him. He toppled onto the damp forest floor like a rag doll. Jarod was immediately on the move toward him after an initial crouching reaction.

Stoltz had found them.

The tree provided protection against the next three attempts. The absence of sound made the scene surreal to Jarod. There was no report from a weapon to gauge the level of danger or even at what range Stoltz was attacking.

Neil's body shivered in shock as Jarod checked the wound. The entry was clean, but the bullet had not exited. It lay buried in Neil's upper chest, near the shoulder. The moon provided some light, but Jarod did not dare turn on a flashlight to examine Case.

He pressed on the wound to stem the flow of blood, all the while trying to get a fix on Stoltz as he maneuvered for a better position from which to launch another attack. There were faint snaps of twigs in the distance that let Jarod estimate Stoltz was still over fifty yards away from their protective position behind the tree.

"Stay with me, Neil," Jarod encouraged in a whisper.

Neil's breathing had been reduced to small gasps of pain. "You have to get out of here." He chuckled weakly. "No sense in two of us dying." His eyes closed in exhaustion.

Jarod looked around him in desperation. Neil was going into shock. The roots of a nearby tree rose up into its trunk. It would do. He took hold of Neil's ankles and dragged him close to the trunk. Neil cried out in pain at the movement, but it was necessary if he was going to survive. He propped the ranger's legs up on the roots as a treatment for shock. "We're both getting out of here," he promised Neil.

"We need help," Neil mumbled.

Jarod searched for the radio, remembering belatedly that it was on the strap of Neil's backpack. That seemed promising until he remembered the pack was on the other side of the tree, out in the open where anyone going for it would be an assured target. Also in the pack was a first aid kit that would have at least some rudimentary supplies to stem Neil's rate of blood loss. The risk was worth the reward if he could just get to it.

He looked down at Case, whose eyes squinted in pain. "Neil, I'm going for your pack."

Neil shook his head feebly. "He'll mow you down the minute he sees you. You have to get him on the run. He can't move things without concentrating." Case's hand slipped to his holster. "Take my gun. Start shooting at him. It'll buy you some time." He coughed, and gurgling sound rumbled in his chest.

Jarod refused the offer. "I have the backup you gave me. Keep yours in case I can't hold him off out there and he manages to make it back this way."

He rose up quickly for a glimpse into the woods to find the hunter. There was no choice but to face Peter Stoltz and hope his skills had not improved over the years.


	12. Chapter 12

Mind's Eye - Part 12

As she neared Prime Hook, just ten minutes outside Georgetown, Parker dialed Sydney's phone. He picked up on the first ring.

"Sydney," he said.

Her foot pressed harder on the accelerator as she maneuvered around light evening traffic on the highway. "Sydney, have Broots send a sweeper team to Prime Hook. I'm betting the world's guardian angel is on a camping trip there."

"Parker, where are you?"

"Just outside the park. I'm going in to find him."

There was an awkward pause. "Don't you think you should wait for the sweeper team? They can be there in less than an hour."

"There's no time," she argued. "I'm not going to sit by and watch Stoltz ruin three years of fun if Jarod's where I think he is. If all goes well, I'll have three heads on one platter when this is all done, including Raines."

She snapped shut the phone and drove even faster toward Prime Hook and was soon on the main road in to the park. It switchbacked like a snake until it emptied into a large parking lot designated for hikers and day visitors. It was there that she encountered a checkpoint. A park ranger approached her car, his flashlight shining at her face.

"Evening, ma'am," he said. "How are you tonight?"

Parker could not discern his features for the beam of the flashlight in her eyes. This guy was wasting her time, and the aggravation it caused made her face feel hot. "Swell," she said shortly.

"You have business here in the park tonight?"

Of course he was going to make this difficult, she grumbled inwardly. She would lie, lie, lie until she got to where she needed. If lying did not work, she felt inclined to shoot her way in to the park office. "My boss wants to have an office camping trip. I'm here to book some sites."

It was quite possibly the lamest explanation she had ever concocted, but the quality matched the effectiveness of the checkpoint. A few seconds of silence hung in the air as he considered her reason. Then he let her pass, sending her on her way with country bumpkin good evening pleasantries.

She suppressed the urge to floor the car down the road. Parker followed the signs to the park office, which was nearly a mile inside the gates. It was lit up and in business when she parked near the door. Her heels clacked on the asphalt pavement as she approached. Inside, she could see an older woman at the main desk, presumably the secretary or dispatcher. She looked up when Parker entered.

The woman's demeanor was suspicious. "May I help you?"

Parker strode to the desk. "I'm looking for Neil Case. It's very important I talk with him."

"And you are?"

"Parker. I have information concerning Peter Stoltz. I need to speak with him right now."

At the mention of Stoltz, the woman became alert. Mildred, if the nameplate on the edge of her desk was correct, straightened. "What kind of information?"

"I'm afraid I'll need to speak to Mr. Case about that."

"Captain Case," Mildred said, emphasizing the rank, "is not here at the moment. He's on patrol. Perhaps I can take your name and number and have him call you when he gets in?"

Parker's impatience reached its threshold. "Look, lady, I don't have time to play games. Send out bloodhounds if you have to, I don't care. Just find him."

Mildred was about to protest when the dispatch radio made a scratching sound, distracting both women. "Mildred, this is Roy. You there?" said the voice over the speaker.

She picked up the mic to answer. "I'm here, Roy. What can I do for you?"

"Mildred, I need some backup at site eighty-eight on the double. Bunch of college kids are fighting. Can you send a couple of units over here to give me a hand?"

She seemed to hedge at the request. "Is it really that bad, Roy? We're shorthanded tonight. I'm not sure we can spare anyone."

Shouts of anger could be heard in the background. "Yeah, it's bad. I need at least two units. These kids are pretty tanked. You better put another pot of coffee on."

"Stand by, Roy," she said. After hitting a switch on the radio, she made a call to the other units. "Units four and five, do you copy?" When they acknowledged, she said, "Roy needs you two out at eighty-eight to settle down a fight. Are you available?"

Both units were and reported back that they would respond to the call. She looked at Parker for some sort of sympathy. "Oh, I don't like having to do that. Everyone has a patrol tonight. Captain Case will probably have a word to say about it."

"Well, why don't you find out if he does? It's very important I speak with him."

The woman sighed deeply. With unabated reluctance, she tried to raise Case on the radio. Static was the only result. Mildred tried again to no avail. "Oh, dear," she said. Her alarm was clear.

Parker could not blame her. It was an eerie occurrence that there would be no response when Stoltz was probably already in the area. "Try again," she said with insistence.

Mildred complied, but there was still no response. She called to the other patrol units to see if any could check in on Case. Three, four and five were engaged in breaking up the heated brawl. Six was preparing to respond to the fight at the request of the other units.

Parker mulled options in her mind. One popped to the fore of the list, and it seemed good. It would take advantage of the situation, getting her what she wanted most.

"Mildred," Parker said, checking the nameplate once more to make sure she had it right, "why don't you tell me where Captain Case is, and I'll go check on him for you."

Mildred had a curiously amused look on her face. She inventoried Parker's attire. "I'm not sure it's wise to send you where he is. We've had a lot of rain here in the last few weeks. You don't look like the kind of lady who takes kindly to mud, if you know what I mean."

Of course Case would be in some sort of mud pit. No matter, she was always prepared for the unexpected. "I have a change of clothes in the car. If you'll just show me how to get to him, I'll go there and make sure he's all right."

Mildred pondered the offer. Parker could almost see the scales inside the woman's brain dangling side to side with indecision. Finally, she gave in to the suggestion. "You can change in the store room. I'll get you a map of his patrol route."

She felt a surge of relief. If Mildred had put up a fight, it would have sat like a rotting carcass on Parker's conscience to use force to find Case. "I'll be right back," she said.

She turned on her heels and headed out to the parking lot and to her car trunk. Inside was a duffel bag that contained a pair of black fatigues, boots, a long sleeved shirt and an equipment vest with multiple pockets for multiple items of war. She had never been a Girl Scout, indeed never had the opportunity for a normal childhood outside the control of the Centre; but she did believe in being prepared for the uncommon situation. The duffel had sat in her trunk, unused, since the day she had assembled it. The sweeper teams had always shown up in time to do their job. One day, she knew, it would come in handy. Tonight was the night.

She grabbed the bag and headed back into the station, going to the back storage room at Mildred's urging. Quickly, Parker changed, folding her business clothing and placing it in the bag. When she went to put the blazer in the bag, the small picture frame Sister Mary had given her slipped out of the pocket and skidded across the floor. She picked it up carefully, afraid she had damaged the photograph inside it. To her relief, her mother's face was still there, still safe and sound under the tiny glass plate.

Her mother's eyes peered back at her with spiritual encouragement. Parker swore she could hear her mother's voice telling her this was the right thing to do. Both mother and daughter had promised a priest and a nun that they would protect helpless children against the monsters lurking within the Centre. Sister Mary's words rang out in her head like a bell.

"She was willing to die for them; but what about you, Miss Parker? What are you willing to risk to protect them?"

Once again, Parker's fingers touched her mother's image in a loving caress that was the result of nearly a lifetime of heartache. Her eyes closed as she yearned for her mother's intercession.

"Help me, mama," she whispered.

That brief moment of prayer was all Parker would allow. Her eyes opened, and she cleared her head and focused on the task ahead of her. She slipped the frame into the lower pocket of the vest and zipped it closed. She transferred her holster and gun to the belt of the fatigues and made sure the rig was out of sight when she pulled the vest down over it. There was no doubt in her mind that Mildred would go off the deep end if she saw that Parker was armed.

When she exited the storeroom, Mildred was waiting by the desk with map in hand. She clutched the folded paper in her hands with nervous fingers that belied her worry for Neil Case. Once again, she took in Parker's attire. This time, the reaction was one of surprise. Parker had gone from VIP to commando in three minutes flat.

All Parker wanted at that point was to get on the road again to find Case. "Is that the map, Mildred?"

Mildred realized she was crumpling the page and tried to smooth the folds. "Yes, this is it," she said, handing it to Parker. "Captain Case and Ranger Greer are patrolling the south hills of the park on Burke's Trail. I outlined the trail for you."

Well, there was a new name – one that Parker's senses zeroed in on instantly. Rhetorical though she knew it was, she had to ask. "Ranger Greer? Who's that?" she asked with feigned innocence.

Mildred smiled, and a flush crept into her cheeks. "Oh, he's a very handsome young man that just transferred into Hook."

Bingo, Parker cheered mentally. "Let me guess – tall, dark, obnoxiously nice?"

"Well, I wouldn't call his kindness obnoxious. Jarod's anything but that," Mildred protested.

"Jarod? His first name is Jarod?" Parker's heart skipped a pace at the confirmation. Her instincts had been right. If there was one thing she loved, it was being right. She could not contain a quiet chuckle of giddiness over the irony of the situation. Jarod had been just twenty minutes away from her twice that day and only forty from the Centre.

Mildred nodded. Her cheeks flushed to an even darker tone.

Parker spotted a portable radio set into a charger on the wall. She took it out of the pack and hooked it to her belt. "I'll call you when I find them."

"I'll try to have those other boys get up there to make sure everything's all right once they clear up the fight."

Parker gave an impatient flip of her head in acknowledgement and headed out the door to her car. She sat with the door open so she could read the map by the dome light. As promised, Mildred had highlighted Burke's Trail in pink highlighter. The trail followed the southern horseshoe rim of Prime Hook. It would be easy to follow once she got on to the trail.

With all the other rangers responding to the fight call, Parker took the liberty of racing the roads to get to the southern part of the reserve. In less than five minutes, she saw the sign for the turn off into a parking lot that began Burke's Trail. She pulled in quickly and parked the car once more. There was a Mag light under the seat, which she retrieved. After taking one more look at the map, Parker stepped out of the car and into the cold night air.

She set out on the trail without need of the Mag. The moon was high and bright in the night sky. A brief glance at it caused a flash of memory to spark in her mind of Thomas, a camp fire, the telescope, the first time she had allowed herself to be vulnerable to someone, the first time she had trusted. Parker allowed it only a moment's consideration before she pushed it away, back to the quiet room in her mind reserved for such memories. Thomas lived in there, along with her mother and the fancy that Parker's father truly loved her without ulterior motives.

The trail began to rise up with the land. Fine gravel scraped under the soles of her boots as she walked at a quick pace. Then the gravel was gone. A worn path through the forest was the way Burke's Trail would run until the next parking lot.

She had no idea where Case or Jarod might be, but Mildred had said they would patrol the trail. There were no offshoots, no forks in the road that might allow them to go one way and she the other. It was a curving trail that followed the southern rim of Prime Hook. Eventually, she figured she would run into them sooner or later. If she missed them, the sweeper team could move in and do the job.

As she neared the top of the small hill, shots rang out in the distance. At least two were fired off, echoing through the crisp air with staccato beginnings that quickly decayed into silence. She broke off into a full sprint toward the sounds. No one was going to shoot the man she had been chasing for so long. He was her ticket to freedom, and damned be anyone who stood in the way of that.

Another shot rang out, and she knew she was closing in on the area. The source of the volley shifted to her left, somewhere off the trail. Parker stayed to the trail, determining it was the fastest route to the location. She would cut through the woods laterally once she got near enough to zone in on the battle. Her gun was drawn when another round cut through the night. She was close, running at a full clip. If Jarod was there, she had no intention of missing him.


	13. Chapter 13

Mind's Eye - Part 13

Jarod fired blindly into the forest, squeezing off two rounds in the direction he thought he last heard Stoltz. There were more fallen trees to right. A quick calculation in his head, and thought he might be able to disorient Stoltz long enough to make a run for the radio.

He looked back at Neil, feeling helpless to protect him should Stoltz get close enough to hit his mark. It might not matter at all, Jarod knew, because Neil was fading fast in the cold night. The resolution to the battle would have to come soon if there was any hope of saving Case and getting him the medical care he so desperately needed.

A blip of movement caught his eye. He let go with another shot, trying to keep Stoltz from gaining ground. Jarod was rewarded with a return attack that landed perilously close to his head. He could feel the displaced air sweep up around his left ear as the bullet passed by him. It embedded itself in the large maple behind him with a quiet thunking sound. Bits of bark splintered off and sprayed on to his jacket. He wondered what it was exactly Stoltz was using to attack. He had assumed from Neil's wound that it was a bullet, but he knew Stoltz could have been using anything for an arsenal. Carefully, he turned toward the trunk. In a beam of light from the sky, he could make out the butt end of a copper-jacketed shell in the wood. Peter was using the instruments of death taught to him by Raines.

Stoltz definitely had range on both of them from whatever vantage he had attained in the woods. The light of the moon was simply not bright enough to reveal anything more than shadows under the dense pack of trees. Jarod's brain seemed to vibrate as he played through various options for the scenario. He could go for the radio as planned, but Neil was right – Stoltz would win the battle with a clear shot. They could continue the cat and mouse game all night long, except that where Jarod's supply of ammunition was limited, Stoltz had the luxury of anything his mind could move as weapons. Simple stones could turn into projectiles that would kill if they found their mark. More importantly, Neil's body would not hold up against the passage of time. His life was slipping away with each minute.

Jarod concluded there was only one thing to do. It was the one option most strategists would consider insane, but this was no ordinary battle situation. The rules of war did not apply because the mode of attack was anything but conventional. The answer to the scenario was simple.

He would counterattack Stoltz with everything he had.

If he failed, Case was dead. If he did nothing, the result would be the same. In order to gain a foothold against Stoltz, Jarod would have to find a better position closer to his assailant. It would draw the battle away from Neil, keeping him safe from Stoltz's attention.

Jarod waited patiently until he saw movement from the woods. He leapt from his hiding place and let loose three quick shots from his nine-millimeter. He bounded across the trail in two steps, running as he used the trees for cover. It confused Stoltz for only a moment before he began to strike back at Jarod's maneuvers.

Bullets followed Jarod's path in succession, but they were not accurate enough to catch up with the pretender. He spotted another large maple and took cover behind it. More bullets came his way, but none found their target. His heart raced with a surge of adrenaline that set his senses on fire. He felt wildly out of control, as though a prehistoric hunting instinct was beginning to surface after laying dormant for thousands of years of human evolution. A shift in focus began to emerge. If he had any hope of beating Stoltz, he would have to become Stoltz.

He would have to pretend to be the assassin hunting him.

Stoltz, of course, had the advantage of telekinesis. Jarod had no way of emulating that factor. He could, however, anticipate how Stoltz would react to a counterattack that was performed with intent. His mind replayed the DSA recordings at lightning speed. Raines had trained Stoltz to react to being tracked and chased. He had taught Peter how to evade capture, how to effectively neutralize a target and how to disappear into nothingness when the task was done. What Raines had not taught the boy was how to deal with being the hunted. Twenty-five years later, the inadequacies of the programming would still be intact in the man. It was the advantage Jarod needed.

Again, Jarod tried to get a fix on Stoltz. He peered around the tree and listened for any sounds. Stoltz was moving into a different position, closer and closer to Neil Case, his intended victim. The moment of opportunity was presenting itself, quite possibly the only time it would.

Jarod sprang from behind the tree with a primal yell, firing wide at Stoltz until his gun was empty. Stoltz froze for a moment before reacting to Jarod's attack. Jarod saw his eyes, saw fear where it should not have been. Peter turned and began sprinting through the woods, leaping over anything that got in his way.

A dead heat ensued. Jarod could not afford for Stoltz to escape. Peter needed help, needed to be free from the clutches of the Centre and the atrocities it had inflicted on him as a boy. He also needed to be contained from ever carrying out the program buried deep within his mind on anyone else. He was a walking, breathing weapon of war that would no doubt lead to others like him.

Jarod's lungs burned as he kept pace. Stoltz was quick, bounding over obstacles like an adept animal. He was headed in the direction of deep woods when he suddenly veered left in his steps, making yet another turn back toward Neil's hiding place. He gave a quick look back at Jarod, judging the distance between them, and stopped abruptly. He reached into his pocket, held out his hand, palm up, and pointed it toward Jarod.

The ground was cold and soggy where Jarod landed as he dove for cover. Arm over his head, he heard the bullet whistle past him and skip off a large rock. Stoltz may have had a hard time doing two things at once, but he was dangerously accurate when he concentrated on sending projectiles at his enemies.

Jarod squeezed the trigger on the Taurus only to hear a succession of clicks. His gun was empty. A flip of his thumb ejected the magazine in the gun as he reached for another on his belt, trying to keep an eye on Stoltz. He slapped the replacement into the butt of the gun and pulled the slide back to chamber a new round. He fired off two shots toward Peter's left, trying to drive him away from Neil, who lay wounded along Burke's Trail. It was the only way Jarod could lead Stoltz away from the path and back into the woods. In the deep woods, there was cover. Along the trail, the trees had been thinned to allow pedestrian passage through the forest. There were fewer places to crouch behind in order to avoid getting hit.

Three more shots, and the barrel of Jarod's gun was smoking. He did not want to hit Stoltz, but he would if he had to in order to save the life of Neil Case.

Peter calmly stepped out of sight behind a tree while Jarod frantically rolled toward another. Even at a distance, it was easy to see the frigid air turn into clouded puffs from the panting caused by Peter's run. He was getting tired, just like Jarod was. There was a momentary lull in the battle as both men recouped energy. Thoughts were occurring to Jarod that did not seem to have a place during the moment, but an inner voice kept sounding, telling him that he had to try to talk to Stoltz. He wanted to believe that there was some piece of the boy Peter once was buried deep within the warped psyche imposed by Raines.

"Peter Stoltz!" Jarod shouted, his voice echoing in the night. The only response was the sound of rustling leaves and footsteps in the distance. Jarod ducked around the tree to find him, but the sound was coming from another angle. Something was wrong. Stoltz was not the one moving. Jarod could still see Peter's breath in the moonlight near the tree. There was someone else out there, another player in the game. Without a radio, he had no way of knowing if his backup had arrived. He considered it might be Neil coming to help, but the moment was too quick, too fluid to be anyone with a wound a serious as his.

"Peter!" Jarod yelled again. "It's time to stop running. I know what the Centre did to you. I know Doctor Raines told you this is what you have to do, but he was lying to you. You don't have to kill anyone."

The other player moved again, seeming to take up a position between Stoltz and the trail. Jarod could not deny the comfort he took in the fact, except he had no idea who the other person was. For all he knew, it could have been an accomplice for Stoltz. No, he reasoned, an accomplice would have maneuvered by now so the two could converge on Jarod's position and eliminate him. Whoever it was, if they were on the side of the good guys, did not have a clear shot at Stoltz, either.

Suddenly, two shots emanated from the direction of the stranger. It was the catalyst needed to get Stoltz away from Neil. The lull in the chase was over. Peter bolted for the deep woods again, running at breakneck speed to escape his pursuers. In a brief look, Jarod caught sight of his anonymous comrade before taking off after Stoltz. He could not see any features, nor did he register if they would chase Peter together through the forest.

Stoltz still had a decent head start in front of Jarod. Thirty yards meant the world when running through the thickening landscape. The stand of trees grew denser, causing the chase to slow down considerably as navigation increased in difficulty. The land was beginning to slope downward, leading toward a ravine. A creek lay at the bottom, running headlong into the Broadkill River to the south of Prime Hook.

Jarod could hear his mystery partner coming up from behind and to the left of him, trying to head off Stoltz before he could make a clear run for the ravine and the creek. He decided to make it work to his advantage. He fired four times wide and to the right of Stoltz, making him veer away and toward the stranger's flanking position. So far, he had failed to catch up to Peter. Perhaps someone else would have a better chance if they worked together.

The area ahead and to the right of Jarod seemed more open, which would allow him to bridge the distance between him and Stoltz. It was risky, because there were fewer places to take cover should Stoltz focus on him again, but he had no choice. At the rate he was going, Jarod would never catch up in time to stop him before he reached the ravine.

The theory worked. Pushing his body's limits, Jarod managed to come into a parallel position with Stoltz. It was dangerous, but somehow Stoltz had missed the maneuver. His attention had been on whomever else was with them. Jarod could see both of them now, battling for position amid the hiding spots just above the ravine. Peter avoided areas lit by the moon. So did the stranger.

The stranger fired again at Stoltz, apparently not seeing or simply not caring that Jarod was in the line of fire. Though the shots missed their purchase on either man, they were still too close for comfort. Jarod backed off his position just a bit so that he was not directly in danger of a shot missing Stoltz and ending up in his own body. That was when it became clear the moment to strike was fast approaching. Everyone was in position to make it happen. Jarod would still be in the line of fire, but the other player would soon know where he was and could avoid sending anything his way.

Jarod moved closer, watching the exchange of hostilities between the two. He wanted to get in as close as he could before striking. The stranger would keep Stoltz busy for the time it would take to get there, which was fortunate. There was only one bullet left in the Taurus. The pretender's movements were quiet and deliberate, careful not to make noise as he edged closer to Stoltz.

Stoltz, though, was not to be fooled. He turned in Jarod's direction and let go with another shot. The darkness was Jarod's savior as it missed again. He lunged forward, trying to find protection in the ruts of the land.

As Jarod lay there, he thought he heard a steady rumble in the distance, something so quiet it was hardly observed in the heat of the moment. He tried to find the direction, the source, but the echo in the forest was confusing. As the sound drew closer, it bounced off the trees and the boulders above the ravine, creating a repeating effect. A helicopter or plane was approaching at low altitude.

There was no time to worry about any aircraft. Stoltz was attacking both Jarod and the stranger with abandon. Projectiles whined erratically through the air in an attempt to hit something that would buy him time. There was desperation to his acts, as though he realized his assailants were too close for him to escape without incident. He was in danger of being caught.

The distant rumble was growing. Jarod knew for certain that it was a helicopter was bearing down on them. How did they know where to look, though? Infrared was the most likely answer. The big question remained – who was in it? Dread washed over Jarod.

Had the Centre had found them so quickly?

They would take Peter back, and they would try to take Jarod back. Neil would die, and no one would be able to explain what had happened to him. That brought about another question for Jarod – just who was the other person with him chasing Stoltz? It could not have been a sweeper. A sweeper would have taken Jarod out of the game by now.

The helicopter had to be the Centre, though. They would want Stoltz back, and they would know just where to find him if Raines remembered everything. Jarod knew he could not allow that to happen.

Just as he was about to make another plea to Stoltz, the blades of the chopper roared overhead. A blinding spotlight kicked on, dousing Peter in stark whiteness that drowned out all but the sharpest features of his face. For the first time, Jarod saw the clothes Stoltz had on, noting the camouflage that allowed him to blend into his surroundings.

Stoltz looked upward at the helicopter, shielding his eyes from the light with one hand and clutching his other in a fist. He looked panicked and bewildered as he stumbled backward, trying to get away from it. He tried to find his pursuers in the commotion, but the spotlight remained trained on his form.

Jarod looked beyond the spotlight's diameter when he saw the third player move toward Stoltz, preparing to capture him. Jarod sprang up and ran for Stoltz. Even though the stranger had seemed to be helping in the chase, there was no guarantee of benevolence toward Stoltz if and when he was brought under control. He was vulnerable and helpless against the chaos, with no ability to concentrate.

Peter was becoming frantic under the lights of the helicopter. The engine roared as it hovered. He tried in vain to block out the power light with his hand. Jarod was closing in on Stoltz. So close, just a few more feet, and he would be there, shielding Peter from whatever might harm him. Just steps away, Stoltz turned and saw Jarod coming at him. He reeled backward in an awkward tumble, stumbling to get away before he could be caught.

Stoltz stopped moving for a split second. Then he emitted a guttural scream. The object in his fist flew off into the darkness and he plummeted to the ground, writhing in an insane manner. Jarod approached quickly, taking the moment while it presented itself to bring Stoltz into custody. Only then did he realize what had brought Stoltz down and had rendered him helpless. A claw trap hidden in the underbrush had sunk into Peter's ankle, breaking skin and bone. He would not be running away any time soon.

The swirl of air from the rotor blades whipped dead leaves off the ground as Jarod snapped handcuffs on Peter to keep him from using his hands as the weapons they were trained to be. The helicopter continued to hover and provide light to the situation as Jarod moved down to Peter's ankle to release the trap. When he did, blood began to flow freely from the wound. Again, Stoltz screamed in pain. Jarod's reaction was swift as he holstered his gun. He removed his belt and used it as a tourniquet to staunch the blood loss. The trap had cut deeply into Peter's ankle, severing an artery. He would die without help.

Even though his concern for the moment was for Stoltz, what he really wanted was to get back to Neil and get him the help he needed. Peter was going nowhere, Jarod reasoned, but the helicopter above meant that the sweeper teams were on their way if they were not already there. He looked up, trying to see anything about it that might tell him if the Centre was there or not. The roar of the blades was deafening as the chopper remained positioned above them. It held steady, keeping a lighted eye on them in the night. Then, the level of sound doubled to a painful level as a second helicopter approached with another searchlight.

The first helicopter jockeyed for position above Stoltz before it suddenly made a hasty retreat into the sky, shutting down its searchlight. Jarod watched it sail away into the night as the second arrival took its place.

The new twist only added to the uncertainty of the moment until he heard the helicopter's outboard speaker say, "This is the Delaware State Police. Backup and medical are inbound to your location."

The words registered slowly in Jarod's head. Help had finally arrived. Neil was the priority if that was true. He pointed frantically in the direction of the trail, trying to tell the pilot that the real trouble was there, not where Stoltz lay bleeding yet subdued. The pilot saw his signal and assured him someone knew of Neil's plight. "Rescue units are already on the scene on the trail."

Jarod's body felt weak with relief. Somehow, something had fallen into place to bring the rescue unit to Neil's side. It had to be Mildred. She would have known something was wrong when they missed the time to check in with the office. Case had been adamant that no one go alone, that everyone be safe in their job. She knew he would never break his own rules. That was not the kind of man Neil was. Her concern for him had been apparent the first time Jarod had met her, and it just might be the factor that would save his life if the rescue units arrived in time.

Stoltz clawed at the ground in pain, scraping up clumps of black dirt in his fists. Jarod could only imagine the pain Peter felt from the mangled ankle. Bits of bone stuck out at grotesque angles from the flayed skin where the points of the trap had penetrated. The tourniquet was effective in stopping the gushing blood from the wound, but it would not be long before there was permanent damage to the tissue. Even with all his experiences, Jarod doubted there was a way to save the ravaged remains of the foot.

He sat back on the ground, exhausted from the ordeal. The whine of the helicopter blades proved mesmerizing in the swirl of forest debris kicked up by the downdrafts. The pilot rotated the aircraft to steady it against a crosswind blowing in from the ocean. The searchlight panned a bit in his efforts.

The cleat of the boot was visible under the leaves when Jarod spotted it a small distance away from him. Then the helicopter maneuvered again, and the shift in wind caused the leaves to rise up into the air. Underneath lay a figure clad in black, prone and unmoving. The stranger was lying there, unconscious or perhaps dead.

Jarod got to his feet and approached the body with caution, aware that the Centre was not above such tactics as playing possum. He pulled the thirty-eight Neil had given him from the small of his back and pulled back the hammer as he neared. The stranger's arms were splayed in a toneless fashion, like a suspect told to lay prostrate on the ground. A matted silver handgun glinted in the sweep of the searchlight.

The long hair of the stranger was familiar, indeed the entire physique. With trepidation, Jarod bent down and grasped the stranger's shoulder. He kept the thirty-eight in a defensive position, ready to fire if needed to protect himself. Then he turned the body over in one smooth motion and stepped back to gain a firing position if it was all a trick. What he saw shocked him, renewing the adrenaline that had been diminishing moments before he spotted the body.

Miss Parker had been shot.


	14. Chapter 14

Mind's Eye - Part 14

At first, she thought she was in heaven. The bright light consuming her was painful to look at but curious all the same. It was not the way she had planned to die, but what was done was done. The quiet was peaceful and comforting, like a warm blanket on a fall day. It was like she felt when Thomas lay nestled against her back, warm and strong and protective, after making love to her in the dawn hours. She wanted it to be eternal, content to know she never had to return to the Centre or Lyle or Raines. Parker did not even care about the pain it would cause her father that she was gone, assuming that it would pain him at all.

The source of the light around her moved. An opaque torso came into view. The quiet was replaced by something so loud it startled her. The silhouette at her side bent toward her head.

Jarod was calling her name as he peered down at her. Heaven had turned to hell, and she knew at that moment that the pretender was going to be her eternal punishment. She saw his face, noted his concern somewhere in the thick haze of her consciousness, and drifted off to sleep once more.

When she awoke for the second time, a different kind of light was assaulting her eyes. The fog she had been in before had cleared sufficiently for her to catalog her surroundings. Parker found herself strapped to a gurney in the back of an ambulance. There was a paramedic with her. He looked like a body builder, big and beefy with a crew cut to match. He could have passed for one of the Centre's gorillas except he had compassion and actually seemed to care that she was rather helpless when he saw her awaken.

"Take it easy," he said, adjusting the oxygen mask on her face. "Everything's going to be all right."

As if her return to reality was lousy enough, the genesis of pain throughout her body bordered on criminal when she tried to sit up and get her bearings. An excruciating spasm exploded in her right side, just above the hip. It took her breath away, and an involuntary whimper caught in her throat.

"Son of a bitch," she cursed shakily through gritted teeth.

"Hey, come on now," he admonished, "you need to relax." He restrained her with a hand to her shoulder.

She reached up and pulled the mask off despite his protests. "No," she said in a tense voice, "what I need is to get out of here."

"I'm afraid I can't let you go until you get checked out at the hospital. We need to make sure everything is fine where you were hit."

Parker could not readily place the meaning of "hit".

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The medic seemed to take the lapse of memory in stride. "They found you in the woods. You've been shot, but you're one lucky lady."

Like the jigsaw photograph Jarod had left in her house, her memories of how she came to be in such a condition were disjointed and scrambled. None of the pieces would fit to form the entire picture in her throbbing head. All she knew for sure was she hurt immensely and felt a desperate need for her gun, which was no longer in her possession.

"I assume that means I'm going to live?" she asked, closing her eyes to the pain boiling inside her.

"Probably going to be damned sore for a few days, but we're going to get you checked out to make sure there's no internal bleeding. That picture saved your life, but it could still cause damage on the inside."

The fog was seeping into her brain once more. Parker was frustrated because she knew the clue he had given her should have made sense. She should have known what it was he was saying, but her mind was drawing a complete blank.

Her look of confusion at him prompted an explanation. He reached behind the bench he was on and pulled up her equipment vest. From the hip pocket, he withdrew the silver picture frame Sister Mary had given Parker just hours earlier. Near the top left hand corner of the frame was an indentation from the bullet Stoltz had sent at her. The glass plate was gone from the impact, but Catherine Parker's face was still as radiant as ever.

Parker reached for the frame, and he handed it to her so gently, as though it was a fragile piece of the past. Her pursuit of Stoltz through the woods finally connected. She suppressed the sob welling within at the sight of her mother in what was such a frightening moment. Catherine had been there with her in the woods, helping her as she asked. From the grave, she had saved her daughter's life.

Parker touched Catherine's face with a thumb, caressing the image once more. Then she pulled the picture close in an embrace and closed her eyes. Exhaustion overcame her as the ambulance pulled out and moved toward Georgetown Community Hospital.

The next time she awoke, she was exposed to a series of x-rays, pokes and prods, and questions she had no patience to answer. The haze of confusion was gone, and she was hurting. When detectives from the state police arrived to question her on her involvement in the Stoltz matter, they did not seem impressed that she was the daughter of a very influential man at the Centre. As if her current state of discomfort was not enough, she began rooting for a lethal overdose of morphine when Lyle poked his head into the examination room.

She heaved a sigh that was a mixture of frustration and loathing of Lyle's sudden appearance. "Aren't you supposed to be at least a hundred miles out of my sight right now?" she snapped.

Lyle put up his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, sis. From the looks of it, you could use a little backup right now." He picked up the vest she had been wearing in the woods from a chair and held it up for examination. The bullet had ripped a hole in the pocket where the picture had been stored. He snorted. "Looks like I'm about two hours too late."

"Amongst other things," she retorted. "So, I ask you again, aren't you supposed to be on a dream vacation?"

He tossed the vest onto the chair and came to her side. He picked up her chart and began leafing through it. "I never got out of the state of Delaware. Just before I got to the border, I got a call from the sweeper team saying you had mobilized them to get Jarod."

Lyle closed the chart and looked at her directly. "So, why would you go in before they got there? He's nowhere to be found, and you're lucky to be alive. We've managed to satisfy the police for now as to why you were in the middle of this mess. They're content that they have their jailbird in custody. That just leaves us questioning your motives."

"What about Stoltz?"

Lyle seemed annoyed by her concern, but he obliged her. "He's in surgery right now. They're trying to reattach what's left of his foot, but the doctors aren't optimistic."

"And the ranger?"

He gave a dismissive shrug. "The 'hanging by a thread' routine. Stoltz got off a good shot at him. Got off a good one at you, too. Good thing Jarod was there to pull your combat boots out of the fire."

Parker's mind was kicking into high gear with Lyle out of habit. He was saying one thing and meaning another, which meant he was clueless about the circumstances of the entire ordeal. He was looking for an admission on her part about Jarod's presence at Prime Hook, his way of building a case for her ouster from the Centre power structure. Brigitte would certainly weigh in on the entire scenario when it came time for analysis of the events, and there was no telling what she would whisper into influential ears for her own benefit, including Parker's father.

As much as she hated to admit it, Jarod had saved Parker's life, even if it was only indirectly. By putting her into contact with Sister Mary, she had received the picture of Catherine Parker. That picture and the silver frame around it had saved Parker's life. She felt she owed him one break in their rivalry in repayment. She would not sic the dogs of war on him. She would not run after him despite pain and anguish to seek her revenge. He would get one reprieve, and this would be it.

"If he were around, I'd say it with flowers. Unfortunately, he's probably in the next time zone by now."

She was not being sarcastic, really. Jarod had a way of being somewhere safe and out of the reach of the sweeper team sent to find him. Knowing that he felt protective of Neil Case, though, he was probably close by and watching for a break to check in on him. The sweepers would stay vigilant only so long. Then their services would be needed elsewhere and they would move on to another hunt. Jarod would be able to accomplish his task, which was to keep Neil Case safe.

Lyle contemplated her explanation briefly. He knew Jarod's habits from the reports submitted on all the near misses by Parker and the sweeper teams. He thought he was an expert on capturing him. The actual truth was that Lyle had no intuition for Jarod's empathy to the plight of the underdog. The pretender had a weakness, and Lyle simply missed the point every time – Jarod gave a damn about people.

"Probably, and no thanks to you," Lyle jabbed. "Dad's not going to be happy when he hears our little project got away . . . again."

A stab of anger jolted through her at Lyle's condescension. "Well, we all have our moments of failure, don't we, Lyle? You should know that best of all."

Lyle's face flashed a smile, but it was fleeting. He was not about to engage her in that discussion.

"They'll be releasing you soon. Broots and Sydney have your car. They'll drive you home." He turned and headed for the door, stopping to glance back when he got there. "Ciao."

Parker's hand clenched into a fist. Lyle was a frustrating element in her life. He had those in power snowed, including the Triumvirate. Given the opportunity, he would sell out anyone and anything that might get him ahead in the ranks of power at the Centre. Selling out his sister would be no exception. He was a leach, a user among users who selfishly did only what benefit him. She would have to keep her eye on him, watch him at all times until she could solidly restore her foothold in the echelons of authority.

When they released her from the emergency room, Broots and Sydney were there as promised to take her home. The minute she was situated in the back seat of the car, she fell fast asleep. Painkillers had helped with that, but Parker could have zoned out from the sheer stress of the night. She had enough trust in Broots and Sydney that they would not hold her weaknesses against her, especially the need for sleep.

When they arrived at her home, both men offered to stay with her until she was on her feet once more. She refused, as was her demeanor. She could not afford to appear any weaker on the night that she already was, especially to Lyle or Raines.

Her bed felt cool and comforting against her battered body. Parker allowed herself to admit she felt like hell, even with narcotic painkillers in her bloodstream. Stoltz had hit her full-force, as unbelievable as it was. She still had not fully absorbed the notion that a human being could move objects with his mind. It walked the fine line between realism and fantasy. No matter how she sorted the facts, none of it ever resulted in a complete understanding of what the children of Black Arrow were capable of doing given the proper motivation.

What was clear to Parker, though, was how diabolical Raines could be with helpless children. He had gone so far as to order the instant death of one of them. He had no remorse for his actions, for his life continued. That was all that mattered to him.

She, herself, had experienced death, had crossed over into non-existence where a girl named Faith resided. Parker had been content to die then, too. She fought to return to the living when Faith assured her that Catherine wanted her daughter to live. If only she had given in when she had the chance, Thomas would still be alive. There would have been no reason for the Centre to kill him. She felt she would carry that burden of guilt forever in her heart, and no one would be able to convince her otherwise.

She sank down under the blankets and lay on her side. On the nightstand stood the picture frame. The crease from the bullet seemed more pronounced in the soft glow of the lamp. Catherine's eyes pierced her own. Her mother's gaze was strong and determined, yet there was an underlying joy to her smile that Parker yearned for each and every day. It was ironic how a mother and daughter could look so much alike but were two entirely different kinds of people. Parker had cultivated her shell over the years, consciously deciding to keep everyone at arm's length for her own protection. She had lost her mother whom she loved with her very soul. Thomas was the only other true love in her life that had managed to breach her defenses she so steadfastly maintained. Now, he was gone, too. Now, she was alone.

Parker did not remember falling asleep. She did not even dream. She awoke around noon the next day with a brief loss as to how she had arrived in her bed. It all came back in detail when she padded barefoot into the bathroom and looked at her side where Stoltz had shot her. The angry bruise pattern followed the shape of the picture frame, a ninety-degree angle of deep blues, purples and reds. Rage spread through her as all the facts of Black Arrow returned to the fore of her mind. It was a given that she must return to the Centre that day to defend herself and block any attempts to usurp her position. She went on automatic pilot as she gingerly showered and dressed. The drive to the Centre was a subconscious task, one she did not register until she was in the parking lot.

Lyle's convertible was parked next to her slot. He had given up his vacation, no doubt, to take full advantage of Parker's situation. He would squeeze every aspect of the night before in the hopes of spilling her blood and weakening her authority. On the bright side, she reasoned, it was good to know Lyle saw her as a threat. She was by no means out of the loop, as Sister Mary had accused, and she would do whatever it took to stay in it.

Parker threw the car into park and waited a moment before subjecting herself to the pain of exiting the car. With some effort, she was on her feet. She afforded herself a moment of composure, which consisted of holding her breath and daring to breathe once more. She then headed for the back door of the Centre. She went straight to her office and left orders that she was not to be disturbed. As she sat down at her desk, the silence of her life enveloped her once more. Parker could not even justify why she had not stayed in bed. It certainly would have been warranted.

She pulled the Black Arrow files up on her terminal and cycled through the records of the children. She felt despair at knowing the remaining children would be hunted by the Centre. Parker had made a promise to a priest and a nun that she would protect the children. She had lied and led them to believe that fate rested in her hands. She had power but it meant nothing when fighting the combined powers of the Centre. There was no way she could head off Raines and the Triumvirate from following through with Black Arrow and any new generations of research.

The silence of her office was becoming unbearable. It invaded her senses with a paradoxical bombardment of stimulus. It allowed the confusing feelings inside her to surface and take over her mind. She felt her control slipping as the images of Stoltz flickered in her mind. She wanted the bright light to come again and for it to be real. The next time it was offered, she decided she would give in to it and accept its offer of release from the world she knew. Wherever the light led, it had to be better than where she was.

Her side felt hot with pain as she stood up and left her office. Sydney might have found something during the night. If anything, she wanted the details of Lyle's activities while she was out for the count at Georgetown Community Hospital. Sydney was the one man she could trust, at least for the most part, to tell her the truth. The guilt for his past was a powerful tool that Parker was able to wield at the most strategic of times. However, it was a tactic best reserved for crucial moments. Regular use would have dulled its impact.

He was in his office. The light was soft and dim and warm, a soothing contrast to her brightly lit office. Sydney preferred hushed tones of light when he worked, although she found the light level annoying because it made it difficult to read anything.

He looked up at her when she stepped inside and waited in the doorway.

"Parker?" he said. "Is everything all right?"

She was quiet. Nothing was right. It was all blown to hell, and there was no way to put it all back together again. He had told her he would be there to listen if she needed. An argument carried on in her head as to whether or not to reveal all she was feeling to Sydney. No, she thought, she would play it a bit at a time and see what developed. Showing all the cards at once was a dangerous mistake, she knew.

"May I come in?" she asked. Her tone sounded apprehensive in her own ears, though she had not intended for it to be so.

He gave pause. "Of course." When she sat down in the chair on the other side of his, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

She was somber. "Nothing a little ice and a few choice narcotics won't handle."

"The doctors in Georgetown said you were very lucky."

"How's Neil Case?" She did not want to listen to how lucky she was. Stoltz had hurt people, and Raines was probably giddy with delight at the success of his toy.

Sydney's face looked grim. "He's in critical condition. The bullet from Stoltz did quite a bit of damage. Stoltz isn't doing so well, either. He lost a tremendous amount of blood from the wound to his leg. No one is willing to hazard a guess on the survival probabilities of either man."

Her eyes closed, and she sighed. "It never ends, does it, Syd?"

"Life at the Centre evolves. It is in a state of constant change. There are some things that are simply out of your control, Parker. The difficulty comes in discerning exactly what it is that you do have power over and what is out of your hands entirely."

Her eyes opened and focused on him. "I made a promise I can't keep, Syd. I told a nun and a priest that I would put an end to Black Arrow and to the things Raines was doing. Not only did I lie to them, but I'm probably pissing off God in the process."

Sydney's eyes were understanding and warm. "You've done everything you can. You're fighting something that is much larger than just one or two people. You're battling a philosophy, an ideology that is the core of the Centre. Not even your mother could change that all those years ago."

She felt her chest tighten with stress as her emotions surfaced. "My mother at least made a dent in Black Arrow. She at least took a chance at disrupting Raines and his twisted freak show. All I've done is find another target for his robot killer. I've contributed to the project, not protected anyone."

"You were given a directive," Sydney countered. "You don't have a choice but to do your job when that happens. The fact that Lyle ordered you to find those children exonerates you from anything that might result from your efforts."

"Does it?" she contested. "I hear that was a popular excuse for the Nazis a while back."

She looked away, knowing the comment cut to the bone with Sydney. He had been a part of that era, had known the terror inflicted by Hitler's men. Still, she wanted to make a point, and the corollary was there. Her culpability was nearly identical.

If the barb offended him, he showed no signs. He remained passive and in control. "If you were at the top of the food chain, I might agree. However, you've demonstrated your concern for their safety, and that makes all the difference. It's up to you to give yourself the latitude to believe that you're a good person, Miss Parker."

His comment stung so deeply she felt her body flinch. The idea was so contrary to how she felt. "I can't," she whispered.

Parker's eyes felt full as tears welled up in them. She refused to let them fall, fighting for control and maintaining it. She blinked several times and knew the effort was not lost on Sydney. He said nothing regarding it, and she was relieved that he gave her the moments she needed to regain her composure.

Broots appeared suddenly in the doorway, out of breath and looking ultimately nervous. The paper in his hands shook as he approached. Parker beat down the feeling of annoyance at his interruption, but he usually had a good reason when he barged into places.

"Oh good, you're both here," he said, trying to catch his breath. Parker got the distinct feeling Broots might throw up at any moment. He came to her side.

"Miss Parker, I found something I think you're going to want to see," he said so quietly she almost could not understand him.

He held out the paper for her, and she took it. Her brow rose up as she read the words on the page. She looked up at Broots. "Are you sure about this?" she asked.

"It's right off the storage unit. I restored a chunk of memory about ten minutes ago. That's what I found."

She read the words on the page again just to be sure. Her heart was alive again. This was the angle she had been looking for since realizing the consequences of Black Arrow. The paper had the answers on it that would help her to stop Raines and his continuing the experiment. Parker could almost not believe what she was seeing.

She stood quickly and denied the pain she felt. Her emotions were too hot inside to care about aches of skin and bone. She looked at Broots with a determined disposition. "Broots, I want those files erased on the old storage units, and I want you to lock out everything on Black Arrow in the Centre's mainframe."

His eyes were wide with shock. "The mainframe? Miss Parker, they shoot people for doing that!"

Parker smiled with delight at the surge of power and control she felt. "And I'll shoot you if you don't. Take your chances with them or me. Up to you."

She did not give him time to answer. She was heading down the hall and toward the main offices. When Parker approached Raines' office, his assistant tried to stop her. Her hand reached out with agile speed and grasped his neck, cutting off his supply of air. He gagged at the attack on his windpipe.

"Go sharpen some pencils, bagel boy," she gnarled.

She released her grip on him and flung open the doors to Raines' office. Not to her surprise, Lyle was seated there, across from the man who ran the sick experiments of yore at the Centre. She strode up next to Lyle and said, "Leave us."

When Lyle did not move, she glared down at him. "Now," she commanded.

Something about the look on her brother's face told her he had an inkling of what was to come. He looked practically amused at her tenacity. Still, he rose and said nothing in response. Lyle left the office as he was told, leaving Raines and Parker to face one another.

Raines took a deep rasping breath. "Something on your mind, Miss Parker?" he droned.

She folded her arms. "I'm shutting Black Arrow down, you wheezing son of a bitch."

"That's hardly a decision you can make," he said with disdain.

"You made the decision for yourself." She bent down and rested her hands on his desk. "I know who was on the test list for Stoltz. Considering Black Arrow was originally a wash, I thought you would have been smarter than that, especially since you lied to the Triumvirate about when the project began by at least a year. You went behind their backs and started it without authorization."

"The Triumvirate is already aware that Stoltz was programmed to find the children," he admitted, knowing it was pointless to deny the fact with her. "They sanctioned his reactivation, despite my indiscretions in my early years of research. They understood that I was only being zealous about my work."

A victorious smile formed on her lips. She had Raines right where she wanted him. "They sanctioned what you showed them, but I'm willing to bet they would have objected had they known you included some key members of the Triumvirate on the list, including Mutumbo."

The look on his face shifted ever so slightly, and she knew she had struck pay dirt. Parker had turned the tables on him and was in the position of power she rarely enjoyed over those like Raines.

"What do you want?" he said in a grated voice.

He was asking what she wanted to keep quiet about the addendum to Stoltz's hit list. She could have asked for the world, and Raines would have been inclined to give it to her to keep his heart beating. She could have even asked for her freedom from the Centre, but there was something worth more than that. There was something she knew her mother would have demanded because it was the right thing to do.

"I want Black Arrow to disappear. I want you to leave those involved in the project alone."

"I can't control Stoltz. If you read the project files, you know he's already running on a program that can't be stopped."

She held up a hand. "Save it for those more gullible, like Lyle. I know you, Raines. I know you'd never turn something like that loose without an off switch, just in case you suddenly became a target." She leaned in closer. "I want you to deactivate Stoltz and pretend like Black Arrow and any other project like it never existed. Otherwise, there are going to be some very unhappy Africans on the Centre's doorstep in less than twenty-four hours."

"Most of the children have already been found," he argued.

She felt as though her gaze was slicing through his skull. Parker felt sharp and in control again. "Then 'unfind' them," she demanded.

Parker straightened, suppressing the display of pain just below the surface of her hardened face. She turned to leave the office when thoughts of Sister Mary and Father Randall surfaced in her mind. They needed to be left alone, too. She might as well throw their welfare into the mix of demands.

She looked back at him. "Oh, and if someone so much as spits on the sidewalk at Saint Agatha's, Mutumbo's going to be enlightened."

If Raines reacted, she did not see it, for she was swiftly heading out into the main concourse of the office level. Lyle was there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. She stopped when she neared him. He looked satisfied and content.

"Something you want to share with the rest of the class?" she snapped.

He gave a mock grimace. "It was all going so well," he said, "right up to the point where Jarod saved the day."

It took a moment for her to realize what he was saying, and her heart skipped a beat. Sydney had been right. There had been a power play going on, only she could not piece it all together fast enough to make the theory stick. It was unclear whether Lyle was conspiring with Raines or if he was just letting the game play out for his own benefit. Either way, the program Stoltz had been running on would have eliminated so many key figures that the rise up the ladder of power would have been one assisted by wings.

All the while, Lyle had not cared that people were dying. He had not cared that Catherine Parker had risked so much to save children whose only fault was having been given an ability they could control. He had used his sister to find them, to make the program play itself through to the end. He was the only one who benefited from key assassinations within the Triumvirate. He had played her like a chess piece and had almost won.

Lyle pushed away from the wall and walked away, leaving her standing there speechless. He whistled a happy tune only he seemed to know.


	15. Chapter 15

Mind's Eye - Part 15

Parker sat in her living room with a fresh drink, watching the flames in the fireplace dance in the darkness. She had taken the remainder of the week off once she was sure that Broots had successfully locked or erased all the data pertaining to Black Arrow. She also made sure Raines was doing as she ordered by calling off the search for the children who were now trying to live normal adult lives. She saw directives from him, ordering the end of the project and everything associated with it. He had declared it a failure, exonerating himself in the eyes of the Triumvirate. To be sure, she had Broots verify everything she saw to make sure it was legitimate and not a forged attempt to pacify her conditions. It was a bittersweet victory, for she would have loved nothing more than to fry Raines until he was nothing more than a pile of cinders. That was not going to happen, though, because she had chosen to protect people she did not know over attaining revenge or stepping up her status in the Centre.

Her body still ached, but she awoke that morning more mobile than in previous days. She would have had a difficult time explaining what had happened if Thomas had still been at her side. He would have wanted to protect her, to hold her in his arms and keep her safe from what it was he was not permitted to see or know. He would have insisted on taking her away from her secret life and making her his own for the rest of their lives. The melancholy feeling inside her turned to anguish as she thought of him, of his face and the smile that melted her to the core. She longed for his embrace so that she would not feel afraid anymore of the things she could not control.

Parker's eyes moistened with tears, but she held them at bay, even in the privacy of her home. She had to maintain control, which was important - especially now, when she was most vulnerable to deposal.

The scotch burned as it went down, and she welcomed the lithe feeling of slight intoxication. To her left, on the end table, was the picture of her mother. She had transferred it from the bedroom to the living room the day before with the intention of adding it to the collection of photographs and mementos special to her. She looked at it intently, studying the dent from the bullet in the frame - the bullet that had nearly killed her. The glow of the fire bounced off the awkward creases and bumps in the metal, creating a rippling effect of colors that were never still.

Her mind raced back to the events at Prime Hook. She tallied the results of the whole ordeal in her head. Neil Case, it turned out, would pull through with time. He would lead a normal life once he healed. She doubted he even comprehended the circle of conspiracy surrounding his near-death at the park where he worked.

Peter Stoltz was left with a stump on his leg where his foot used to be. The trap had done too much damage to salvage the ankle. The bones had been splintered so badly that not even surgical screws would hold them in place. As she had demanded, a directive was sent forth to deactivate Stoltz and his assassination program. He would most likely live out the rest of his life confined in a maximum-security mental institution for the attempted murder of Neil Case.

The phone rang with a steady chirp. She picked it up. "What?" she said quietly.

There was a beat of silence on the other end, then, "Miss Parker, I was calling to see how you were feeling."

It was Jarod. She ran a hand through her hair in disquiet. He had a knack for calling at the wrong time. "I'm feeling like I really don't want to have a conversation with you."

"I know you're tired, and I know you hurt," he said gently, intimating something more than her physical condition, "but unlike bruises, heartache doesn't go away so quickly. You can't bandage the pain."

He was so in tune with what she was feeling that it startled her. It was like he had been in her mind. Still, she had to reassert her mission against him. "It doesn't matter what I feel, Jarod. I still have a job to do, and that is to find you wherever you're hiding."

"You can keep telling yourself that all you want, but until you believe you're worth more than what the Centre says you are, you'll never find peace over Thomas or your mother." She was going to rebut him, but he continued with, "Despite the spin you're trying to put on it, you helped people you didn't even know."

She rubbed at her eyes with two fingers and laughed. "Don't flatter yourself, Smokey. It was coincidental that the picture you left in my house and Lyle's agenda happened to be similar."

"I don't believe that," he contradicted. "I think you saw something so wrong that you wanted to make it right. Your mother tried to do the same all those years ago. You're more like her than you're willing to admit."

Parker leaned her head against a pillow on the couch. She had come to learn there was nothing to be lost by talking to Jarod. He had yet to hold what she said privately to him over her head or use it against her. There was an undeniable trust she felt with him, one that superceded the task she had been given by the Centre. It was stronger than anything she had felt of late.

She picked up the picture and looked at it for what felt like the millionth time that week. "I miss her so much, Jarod. And I miss Thomas," she told him, her voice faltering as she said the words.

"I know," he comforted, though there was something so neutral in his voice that allowed her to believe he was keeping his distance so as not to put her on her guard. "That's how I know the heart inside you is stronger now more than ever, no matter what the Centre tries to tell you. The pain you feel will make you stronger and help you find who you really are."

She said nothing in return. Parker simply looked for wisdom in her mother's eyes once more. There was always something there, but it seemed to be just out of reach to Parker. Perhaps she had grasped just a small part of it in the deep backwoods of Prime Hook. Jarod was right, she allowed. She had gone there to protect Neil Case and the children and to fulfill a promise. She had not put herself in harm's way to appease Lyle or Raines. It was because it was the right thing to do.

"I do know one thing for certain, Miss Parker."

"What's that, Jarod?" she asked as she pulled the picture tightly against her in an embrace. She had no more energy to dodge him. Indeed, she could find no basis on which to argue what he was saying.

"Your mother," he said, "would have been proud."

END OF MIND'S EYE


End file.
